Restart
by CSIGeekFan
Summary: Grissom and Sara return from San Francisco. This is the sequel to Tempered. Spoilers through 8x10.
1. Chapter 1

**NOTE - Updated on 12/21/07 because I never worked with a song fic before and I wanted to make it a little less tedious to read.**

A/N – Okay, this is the sequel to Tempered. However, I am going to try to stay a little more in character in this (one of the prime reasons for restarting this), and keep it more focused on case files.

A/N 2 – For those that did not read Tempered… here's a quick background. Grissom went out to San Francisco after Sara asked, he got to meet her mother, step-sister April, and step-father Dennis. Sara decided it was time to come home. That's where this story starts.

Disclaimer – I have a huge doubt that of the millions of stories out there, mine will be the one that gets sued if I don't say how I don't own CSI or the characters and stuff like that. Hold it, I just said. Never mind, I'm good.

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**Restart**

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It ended up taking a couple of days before they left the bay area. First, they had to stop to off at a store, because Hank had gotten into Gil's suitcase and ripped apart every pair of socks he'd carried with him. Grissom, who had no problem tolerating Sara's half-chewed shoes, seemed to get extremely irritable picking up pieces of cotton knitting.

Muffling a laugh, Sara tried to not to grin, but couldn't help it. When Gil caught sight of the look on her face, his frown intensified and he got _the look_ that always frightened the boys in the lab. _Someday I'll have to tell him it doesn't affect the women,_ she thought to herself, and promptly decided perhaps she'd wait for his ninetieth birthday.

Within hours, they'd packed the cars with her scant clothing. He knew she'd purchased it all shortly after arriving, because she hadn't brought anything with her. Throwing her laptop in the backseat with Hank, Sara took one last look at her temporary home. She'd felt comfortable there, and felt a pang as the building disappeared in the rear view mirror.

"Next stop, Vegas," Grissom said, flipping on the radio. Popping a compact disk into the radio, he knew he'd shocked Sara when a country song filled the car, and her mouth fell open._  
_

* * *

**_Oh, the longer the waiting, the sweeter the kiss_**

**_It's better my darling, I promise you this_**

**_The next time I hold you, I'm not letting go_**

_**Will you wait for me darlin', I need to know **  
_

* * *

Sara felt her eyes well a little at the sentiment. She'd waited left Las Vegas, not asking the one question the song anticipated. She left without asking if Gil would wait for her. Part of her expected outright rejection, but when she'd left she'd been on the edge of breaking apart, and viewing life with a pessimistic attitude. She hadn't expected to find her mother to be the soft, kind person she was. Sara also hadn't anticipated meeting a step-father and step-sister she'd begun to care so much about. 

**_Well, you know I'm a sailor and tomorrow we sail_**

**_It's a hard way of living but I know it well_**

**_And if I surrender my life to the sea_**

**_You can marry another it's all right by me_**

Sara scoffed at this idea. She'd never really thought about it, but the part of her that knew she'd love him forever didn't ever want him to move on if something happened to her. The biggest part of her, though, wanted his happiness, and knew that in her core, she would want him to move on and have a life.

**_Though we won't be together again 'til the spring_**

**_Just imagine the treasures I'll bring_**

"This sounds a great deal like a folk song," Sara murmured, closing her eyes, letting the lyrics and melody drift through her. She'd fallen asleep many a night to songs like the 'Edmund Fitzgerald', and this song closely resembled the style of aching melody. For some reason, lamenting songs seemed to find a place in her, as she often reconciled the sadness of the melody with the sadness of her life.

**_Come lay with me, stay with me, soon I'll be gone_**

**_I will remember you all winter long_**

**_And when I return to the one that I miss_**

**_Oh, the longer the waiting, the sweeter the kiss_**

_**The sweeter the kiss **_

She hadn't given him the chance to lay with her. She'd just left, and part of her would regret that for the rest of her life. More than anything, she'd hurt him and knew it. At that moment, she promised herself she'd spend a lifetime making it up to him.

**_When the mornings are warm and the valleys are green_**

_**I'll come back from wherever I've been **  
_

Sara could imagine Vegas in the dead of winter... or the height of spring. The mornings would be bitter cold, and the landscape muted. Smiling, she realized she wouldn't have it any other way, and looked forward to seeing the city again. She felt a bit of anticipation well up in her. Yeah... she'd take the desert and the city over green valleys any day.

**_Oh, the longer the waiting, the sweeter the kiss_**

**_It's better my darling, I promise you this_**

**_The next time I hold you, I'm not letting go_**

**_I will give up the ocean, forever I know_**

**_Forever I know_**

As the music died out, the acoustic guitar took up the refrain, and the strong solo voice finished it. All the while, Sara began to smile. The first kiss after not seeing him had been desperate, not sweet. The sweetest kisses he gave her were sitting together on the couch, or making love in their bed, gently showing each other how they felt. The lyrics may sound beautiful in theory, but didn't accurately describe Sara and her husband.

**_Oh, the longer the waiting, the sweeter the kiss_**

**_It's better my darling, I promise you this_**

**_The next time I hold you, I'm not letting go_**

**_I will give up the ocean, forever I know_**

**_Forever I know_**

"It's a beautiful song," Sara murmured, a smile playing on her lips, "Besides, I'm back before spring, aren't I? While I may go back to visit, I'm pretty sure I'm done with the bay."

"Nick gave me this disk during his weird phase," Grissom balefully uttered, ejecting the disk.

Slyly grabbing the disk from his fingers, Sara inserted into back the player. The words 'Nick' and 'weird phase' combined with the country music intrigued her. She really wanted to flip through the songs and get an idea of what else Grissom had endured.

The next song she recognized from many unfortunate trips with Nick in his Denali. On more than one occasion, it occurred to her that simply taking her gun and shooting him in the head would cease the issue, but she unfortunately determined Brass would not want to have to handle the case. It took two songs before she couldn't take it anymore and flipped out the disk to insert Tchaikovsky.

Much like his singular drive to San Francisco, Grissom was forced to stop every couple of hours to let the canine out of the back seat, or tolerate him howling out of tune with whatever played over the stereo.

Sara's curiosity no longer containable, she said, "I haven't heard your cell phone ring once since you arrived the other day, Gil."

"I didn't want to be disturbed, so I turned it off."

Turning in her seat to get a better view of her husband, she accused, "You did something before you came here. You're avoiding someone." Then having a good idea who he would most likely wish to evade, groaned, "You're sending Ecklie to voice mail again."

"I'm taking a page from Aristotle, 'The aim of the wise is not to secure pleasure, but avoid pain'."

When she laughed, he glared, only to hear, "You don't care about Aristotle. You're just the biggest procrastinator on the planet."

"Cite your source," he challenged.

"Paperwork, dealing with anything political, dealing with Ecklie, talking to me when we're arguing… shall I continue?"

The silence from the driver's side of the car confirmed her victory. Hank chose that moment to prance in the back seat, signaling the need to pull over once again. Laughing, they found a spot to, as Grissom intoned when he opened the back door, "Release the hound." Sara just rolled her eyes.

Stopping only for a quick bite to eat, they found themselves on the outskirts of Las Vegas shortly after nightfall.

"I want to see the lights of the city," she soberly stated, so they drove the strip. The glow of neon had been a missing factor in her life of late, and she never realized how important the familiarity of the city had become. Leaning forward for a better view, Sara smiled at the gaudiness of the scene before her.

"Welcome home," Grissom said, as they slowly left the tourist traps and headed towards their townhouse. She found herself as restless as Hank, as he pulled in front of their house.

Giddy with excitement, Sara jumped out of the car, grabbed her laptop, and was about to bound up the stairs, when Hank jumped up, apparently even more excited than she to return to 'his' domain. Laughing, she sank onto the stone front steps and laid back, while Grissom unlocked the front door.

Smirking, he held out a hand, helped her to her feet, and gallantly bowed, "Your castle, m'lady?"

Making her way through to the dining room, she dropped her laptop on the table, and made her way to their bedroom. Long ago, she had interwoven that deep masculine colors with touches of lighter feminine blue and peach.

The quizzical look on his face found her asking, "Tell me, Gilbert. What are you thinking?"

"I was just wondering what would happen if you draped some of that gauzy material from the ceiling over the bed," came the absent-minded reply, "like you had in San Francisco."

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she murmured, "I'm sure it can be arranged." A quick kiss later, she sat.

Smiling, he removed his shoes, and she watched his nightly ritual, preparing for bed. Wearing only a robe, he propped himself against the fluffy pillows, and raised his brows at her. "Are you planning on joining me?"

Smirking, she shed her clothing, and lay next to him in her own robe.

When she reached up, his eyes danced, then flared a flaming blue.

Holding her lips a breath from his, she murmured, "Hi, honey, I'm home," and let the night consume them.

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A/N – Okay, I realize it's not that long, but hey. I finished Tempered AND managed to get the next story started. Be kind, and I might actually be able to write more over the next few days.

A/N 2 - The song is from Josh Turner's latest album. The song is called 'The Longer the Waiting (The Sweeter the Kiss)'. The 'Edmund Fitzgerald' is from Gordon Lightfoot.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N – Here we go. I hope you enjoy. Please let me know what you think.

Disclaimer – If we don't need a disclaimer for the Gettysburg Address, an historically important document, why would we need a disclaimer for borrowing characters from a TV show?

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For three days, Sara and Grissom shifted their schedule, trying to get back into old sleeping habits. Hank adapted well. He began slurping both occupants of the bed minutes before the alarm went off each morning. The first time, Sara wiped her mouth, a disgusted look on her face. Grissom smiled, until the pillow slammed him in the head.

While it had been true that they would at times not see each other for days, even working the same shift, they'd seen each other even less with her working swing. This motivation had occupied pockets of her time and concentration for a couple of months.

"I don't want to work swing," she informed him.

"I'll let Ecklie know we're swapping shifts, then," he casually replied, without ever taking his gaze from the journal in his hands.

Forcing a harsh breath, Sara plunked down on the sofa next to him. "Are all men this dense, or is it just you?" she asked, scowling.

That seemed to get his attention as he lifted his frowning face, mumbling, "You just said you don't want to work swing."

"That doesn't mean you need to work swing shift," came her frustrated reply, "and next time you might ask me if I have a course of action in mind instead."

With thoughtful consideration, Grissom asked, "What do you want to do, then?"

Carefully, Sara laid out a plan she'd devised, detailing each pro and con. Grissom smirked at his occasionally obsessive wife, when she pulled an actual typed proposal as well as a risk assessment document from the desk drawer. Scanning it, his head popped up. "When did this part happen?" he asked, pointing to a section of the proposal.

"Janie and I came up with a few concepts years ago. She implemented them," came the cryptic reply.

Getting back to the document, Grissom continued to read. Quietly, he calculated the probability of success with the arrangement Sara projected. "This just might work," he murmured, "and you are positive you want to do this?"

At her nod, he handed the paper back and wondered aloud, "When will you talk to Conrad?"

To which she cheekily replied, "As soon as you turn on your cell phone and deal with the messages I'm sure he left you."

The smile contradicting the mock heavy sigh, Grissom rose, grabbed his phone off the charger, and powered up. His eyebrows shot up when he saw twenty eight missed calls, and seven messages.

Sneaking a peak over his shoulder, Sara's husky chuckle permeated the air, "It serves you right."

Sitting back on the couch, Grissom went through each message. Five messages came from Ecklie, demanding he come in for a 'sit down'. One message from Greg, indicated he'd found evidence in a case and that the call had come in before he would have known Grissom had left for California. One message from Catherine declared she had no intention of doing his paperwork while he was gone.

Postponing the inevitable, Grissom stared at his phone, willing it to disappear. When Sara emerged from the bedroom where she'd been hanging the gauzy canopy, he sighed and dialed.

"You have a cell phone for a reason," greeted Conrad Ecklie.

"I'm aware of that. However, I was out of town and unavailable. I'm fairly certain I made that clear," Grissom quietly replied, his face a mask of irritation.

"When will you be available to come in?" Ecklie asked.

"It depends. I have no intention of having a 'sit down' as you call it, until after you speak with Sara," informed Grissom.

"Really?" he sounded surprised. For a moment, Ecklie considered the implications of Sara's early return. He'd signed her off to be gone for six months. In reality, he hadn't been positive she'd return – at least not to the lab. He'd heard the rumors of her exodus, and knew about burn out from first and second hand experience. People returning to the lab after burning out were rare. He'd never had to manage this kind of situation in the past. Breaking the silence, he requested, "May I speak with her?"

Glimpsing the puzzled look, Grissom handed her the phone, and said, "Conrad would like to speak to you. Are you available?"

Smiling, she grabbed it from him. As Grissom settled back onto the couch, she gave him a full gap-toothed smile and put the phone to her ear. "Hello, Ecklie."

"When are you available to come in?" he asked.

"Today?" she questioned towards Grissom, raising her eyebrows at her husband for verification of the lack of significant plans. At his nod, she confirmed, "Yes, I can be in today."

Attempting to maintain some kind of control, Ecklie commanded, "Then meet me in my office in two hours, so we can discuss your future."

"Thank you, Conrad," she replied. Dropping the phone in her husbands lap, she hummed her way back into the bedroom to get dressed for work.

An hour and a half later, Grissom and Sara walked into the county's forensic sciences building, ready for battle. Upon seeing them, Judy smiled, and said, "Welcome back Mr. Grissom." Her eyes widened upon seeing Sara, and she added, "You too… Mrs. Grissom."

Raising her eyes to the ceiling, Sara walked with her husband to his office, and sat on the couch. The case of sudden nerves had her second guessing herself, until she realized the worst possible outcome of this meeting would be the loss of her job.

"Why are you smiling?" Grissom asked, picking up a file on his desk, and setting into his chair to read.

"I just realized that if this doesn't work, you get to support me," Sara cheerily informed him.

When Catherine arrived a few minutes later, groggy from lack of sleep, Sara's soft laughter filled the room. At Grissom's bland look, she explained, "I'd forgotten how quickly the office grapevine works."

"Why are you here?" queried Grissom.

"Double," grunted the strawberry blond, "catching up on _your_ paperwork, since I thought you were still gone."

Catherine's grinning, "Welcome back," to Sara came followed by a frowning, "are you going to take off again? And if so, could you give us some warning first?"

Soberly, Sara rose and stood in front of Catherine to murmur, "I have no intention of leaving, unless I'm forced to do so."

Sternly, Catherine blew out a breath and intoned, "If you leave him again, you are going to have just about everyone in the lab after you. He," she indicated with a sharp point of her finger towards Grissom, "became impossible to suffer. No one wants to experience that again. Understood?"

Feeling chastised, the brunette lowered her head to hide the subtle grin, and responded with the appropriately smart-assed, "Yes, ma'am."

"You are aware I'm sitting here, correct?" Grissom asked, exasperated at being talked about in the third person.

Her smile wide, Sara looked at the clock and said, "Whoops. Sorry Catherine, but we have to go." Reaching over, she pulled Grissom from his chair.

As the two walked out the door, Catherine thought of having Sara back, and decided to reserve judgment for awhile. While she'd understood Sara's need to leave, her method of departure had caused a severe interruption to the team, especially Grissom. In all the years she'd known him, Catherine had never seen him so… unfocussed.

_I don't know whether to be angry or thrilled,_ filtered through her head, as she sauntered out of Grissom's office.

Upon arriving at Ecklie's domain, the lab director's secretary waved them in with, "He's running a few minutes late."

Grissom sat with his back straight on the couch, and watched Sara sink back in the cushions. Ecklie's arrival brought full force her falsely confident facial expression. _Here we go,_ Grissom thought, knowing that the more relaxed Sara appeared the more tense she actually felt. Trying to slightly distract her, he ran his hand down her arm, until she shifted and sat up further on the couch.

"Thank you for coming in," Ecklie said, pulling up a chair to face them. Peering at the ever present clipboard, he flipped through a few pages and began, "Let me begin by saying welcome back, Sara." Pausing for a moment, Ecklie watched the serene woman before stating, "We are here to discuss your position with the lab."

Before he could continue, Sara offered a document, and suggested, "You may want to read this."

As Ecklie scanned through the pages, Sara paraphrased the contents, "You need a CSI on graveyard, and I've heard Wendy would love to fill the position. Greg seems to be doing a good job mentoring her from what I understand. I am proposing that I take over DNA analysis. Furthermore, I am going to need a separate lab for research."

Sitting far forward, she gravely declared, "I won't work swing shift. I'll work graveyard, and report to someone besides my husband. Period. If that means you don't want me working here, then that's fine. However, you will be losing out on an opportunity, as well as an influx of cash and equipment."

His head snapping up at her last statement, Sara drew out another document and handed it to him. "I received a grant from a company that creates some of the equipment we already use here. The moneys from this grant will be applied in part to my salary for time spent working on research, as well as to equipment needed to create a prototype. Once Wendy is transitioned out of the lab, I will work as much time as necessary as the DNA lab technician, and split any other time with research projects."

"When did you request the grant?" Ecklie asked, annoyed that he had not known she'd entered any applications.

"I didn't," responded Sara, "I've had companies courting me for years. This particular one is owned and operated by a friend and classmate from Berkley. She and I worked on a lot of projects together in college, and she calls me at least every six months… as do other companies." Smirking, she added, "I've made it a habit to go on at least one interview each year, just to sharpen my skills," and saw surprise cause Grissom's jaw to slacken.

Snapping it back into place, he answered Ecklie's, "Did you know about this?" with, "No, actually I had no idea." Thoughtfully, Grissom added, "It's a smart thing to do, though. It never hurts the ego to know you're good enough to go anywhere."

Sara watched Grissom until blue eyes met brown, and they came to a discreet and concrete understanding that this conversation was not over between them. He wanted details.

Frowning, Ecklie asked, "Would this proposal preclude you from going into the field if necessary?"

Sitting back, Sara carefully considered the question, before answering, "No. I won't have a problem working in the field, should the need arise."

Feeling empowered, Sara stood, and said, "I'll leave you to consider my proposal. However, I am going to need an answer within the next few days. If you decide not to accept it, I need to make arrangements with another institution." As if contemplating doing just that, she murmured, "I wonder if UNLV would mind a ton of cash flowing in," and walked out the door, leaving Ecklie staring at her back, and Grissom valiantly containing a grin.

By the time Grissom caught up with Sara nearly half an hour later, she was laying on his couch, asleep. Quietly closing the door, and shutting the blinds, he knelt next to her, and stroked his hand across her cheek. Fluttering brown eyes opened, and watched the smile form on the blue eyed face.

"Oh!" exclaimed the brunette, stretching and sitting upright.

Smiling, he helped her stand, and hugged her quickly, saying, "Ecklie has accepted your proposal, and we start back tonight. Apparently, after I left, crime picked up and graveyard has been swamped. It sounds like, while Conrad rushes Wendy's application and approval through, we are both needed immediately. You are to report directly to Catherine."

"There was one question I didn't answer, and Ecklie seemed to have missed it," she worriedly whispered, a frown adorning her face. At his knowing glance, she shook her head and smiled. Leave it to her husband to have picked up on the issue.

"You want to know who will handle _my_ DNA evidence," Grissom assumed, "I addressed the issue. We've agreed that you cannot process DNA evidence I collect or deliver. However, no one ever said I have to be the one to handle DNA. I can have another member of the team perform the collection and delivery of anything."

Walking out of the lab, Grissom flipped on his sunglasses, and smiled saying, "By the way, Conrad pointed out a loophole in the administrative regulations. While two people are not allowed to have a romantic relationship if they work the same shift, nothing is stated about a married couple working together." Pausing, Grissom slyly watched his wife out of the corner of his eye, and added, "However, we've been warned that public displays of affection are off limits. He agreed that since we showed two years of discretion, it shouldn't be a problem in the future."

At the car, Sara carefully looked around, and noting no witnesses, leaned up and kissed her husband. Settling her own sunglasses in place, she got in the car, smiled, and said, "Just drive."

As Grissom pulled away from the lab, he glanced over and, pretending to be annoyed asked, "So, would you care to tell me about these companies that court you, and why I've never heard a word about it?"

Laughing, Sara replied, "Well, it actually started a few months after I got my masters…" It took the entire drive home to list out all the various organizations that had requested interviews, and offered jobs.

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A/N – So, what do you think? If it's good, just click the button and let me know. If it's bad… let me live in blissful silence. Hey, you're not going to click the Submit Review button? You really didn't like it? sniff


	3. Chapter 3

A/N – Okay, kind of a short, fluffy chapter. If I had to give it a title, I'd probably call it She's Back. Anyway, please review. Thanks.

Disclaimer – How can I be expected to come up with a disclaimer, if I can't even manage to make out my Christmas cards?

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The dinner, meant to celebrate, turned into a fiasco. Their reservations lost, Sara and Gil had begun the evening dressed elegantly, waiting for over half an hour for a table. Finally seated, the waiter had promptly ignored them. Over an hour into the fiasco, a fight broke out at the table across the room, and that's where Jim Brass found them – standing over the dead body of a patron.

"Your shift doesn't start for a couple of hours, Jim" Grissom frowned.

"Swing shift handed this off to graveyard, considering the witnesses reported to be at the scene," he wryly replied, "Of course it's your fault, since you showed your credentials to the patrolman who showed up. It got back to me."

Stepping back, Brass gave a faint whistle, and examined Sara, who crouched over the body. The most formal he'd ever seen Sara dress was a skirt suit for court. Standing, she thrust her hand out. A common sign between them, he slapped a pair of latex gloves in her hand.

While she stretched and turned, releasing the kinks that had gathered, he got a good view of the garment in question. The spaghetti strap burgundy silk cascaded down her body, fitting to her like a glove. The upswept hair and dress displayed a sophistication he would have never suspected of the tough CSI. Looking into her eyes, though, he saw the same Sara he'd missed.

All business, Sara began the process with, "There are fourteen tables, each in an intimate setting, so the lighting was very low at the time, except over here by the victim. I imagine the lights are slightly higher due to the waiter's door into the kitchen."

While Sara looked around the scene, mentally placing everyone and everything in their original positions, Brass got a look at Grissom, as well. "You're not looking so bad yourself, Gil," he said, grinning, taking in the navy blue suit and tie, contrasted against the light blue dress shirt.

When Grissom held out his hand, Brass reached into his pocket and sighed as he slapped the latex gloves in the outstretched palm.

"Before you get started, I need your statements," Brass informed them, all business. Sara and Grissom walked Brass over to the intimate table near the back, surrounded on two sides by privacy screens, and on the third side by a wall.

"We heard yelling, and did our best to ignore it," Grissom informed the detective.

Chuckling, Sara explained, "We seem to have extraordinarily bad luck when it comes to going out to dinner like this," and she spread her hands, indicating their garb and intentions.

Grissom continued the explanation, "We didn't really see anything. There are five tables that would have had a direct view. We, on the other hand, had absolutely no view of the scene, as you can tell from where you stand. The tables over where we were seated are designed for more seclusion than those on the other side, where the victim is located."

Looking back at the scene, then each other, the couple smiled, and set back to work.

"I've got the body," Sara said from where she was kneeling down uncomfortably. Peering at Brass, she said, "Hand me something for writing," and he gave her the small notebook and pen he kept in his pants pocket. Since she didn't have a kit with which to collect anything, she made notes instead.

Looking away from Brass, Grissom distractedly muttered, "I've got the table," and walked over to wear the victim had been dining. Waving down a waiter standing off to the side, Grissom secured some paper and a pen and returned to take notes and leave tags.

The tap on her shoulder half an hour later had Sara jumping. Turning her head, she said, "Don't sneak up like that, Nick."

"Hey, Sara," he said, grinning, "Welcome back."

Smiling, she returned, "Thanks, Nick."

Glancing over to Grissom, she saw her husband animatedly explaining his notes and tags to Catherine, who sported a bemused expression.

Holding out a hand, Nick helped Sara stand, and gave her much the same look she'd received from Brass. Whereas the detective had only made a soft sound, Nick let out a full wolf whistle. "You look… hot," he said, admiring the evening dress.

"That was the point," she ruefully acknowledged.

Glancing back at Grissom's attire, Nick grimaced. They had obviously spent a great deal of time preparing for an intimate evening.

Lowering her voice a touch, Sara conspiratorially whispered, "In over two years, we have tried to have a romantic dinner in a five star restaurant like this five times. It has yet to happen." Grinning, she asked, "Would you say tonight confirms the curse?"

When he heard Sara's laugh, Grissom turned his head, caught her eye, and chuckled himself. He knew precisely what was running through her mind. He and Catherine watched Sara and Nick approach.

Standing together, Grissom and Sara quickly handed over their notes to their relief.

"You two actually look good together," Catherine stated, then leaned into Sara and whispered, "I didn't even know you _owned_ anything this… elegant."

"Gee, thanks," Sara replied, a smile on her lips.

Placing his hand on her lower back, Grissom informed Catherine and Nick, "We'll leave you to it. We're not officially on shift for several more hours. However, I don't believe you will have much of a problem, as we gave our brief statement to Brass earlier, and there are numerous others here who witnessed the entire event."

Just feet away near the coat closet, Nick and Catherine watched Grissom retrieve then gently place the light wrap around Sara's shoulders, making sure to run his fingers over her shoulders, and watch her flush. The sheer intimacy of the act made Catherine feel like a voyeur. However, the moment took a twist, making her laugh, when she heard Grissom ask Sara, "So… next time we plan a romantic meal, let's try fast food. We might have better luck."

Hours later, sated from vegetarian pizza in bed, Sara and Grissom resolutely walked into the lab. Making her way down the hall, she found it difficult to ignore the stares and whispers. Feeling the tension rise, Grissom whispered quietly, "They're thrilled to have you back, Sara. I can guarantee it."

However, she was pleased when they reached Grissom's office, and she felt like she could relax a little. It only took a moment for the absurdity of the situation to hit, however, and she grinned at Grissom.

"Gil, if you need me, I'll be in the break room," Sara stated, smiling. Turning resolutely, Sara walked out and headed down to find Greg, and prayed along the way that he'd been the one to make the coffee.

As she passed Hodges' lab, she heard him say, "I'm glad you're back," without ever looking up from his microscope.

Grinning, Sara continued down the hallway.

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A/N – Okay, if you give me a review (that's right, press the Submit Review button), the stuffed teddy bear won't be hurt. I'd threaten the stuffed Santa Claus, but… I don't want to be on the naughty list.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N – Okay, here's another chapter. Thanks to everyone for the reviews, I appreciate them!

Disclaimer – If I didn't have to spend all my time on laundry, I could probably come up with a better one than this.

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The empty break room smelled of coffee… the bad kind. Scrunching her nose at the scent, Sara resolved herself to drinking the swill, and poured a cup. Sitting, she grabbed a journal off the shelf, and began flipping through pages. Nick arrived first, smiling.

"Thanks for the notes," he said, "it got the processing done fast."

His tone and expression turning serious, he held out his hand and lifted Sara to her feet. Watching her face, and focusing in on her eyes, he quietly asked, "Are you okay?"

After pondering the question for a moment, she answered, "I'm working on it. I needed to face something hard and terrible, and I couldn't be…" she faded off.

"What?" he prompted.

"I couldn't be here. In a lot of ways, a good piece of me was already gone," she murmured. Hugging Nick close, Sara whispered, "Somewhere along the way, I ended up with people in my life. Then everything happened, and I ended up alone again. It made me go back to a place I couldn't handle – it made me need to face it."

Pulling her head back, and loosening the embrace slightly, she sadly added, "The only way I thought it could be faced was alone. I left everyone I care about behind, and tried to find some answers."

Releasing from his embrace, Sara smiled at the man she considered a brother. "I regret the way I left, but I can't regret that I did leave," she unflinchingly stated. _I didn't know what I had here,_ she thought, and added, "I can only hope that you can give me a chance to make it up to you."

_I really missed her,_ Nick contemplated, then smiled wide when he responded, "You can make it up to me with breakfast and a beer after work."

"How about breakfast and a beer at our place," Sara volunteered, then flinched when she thought of Gil's reaction. _Crap, is this one of the things I should have talked to him about first?_

At Sara's reaction, Nick laughed, almost seeing the thought process run through her.

"Sounds good."

A few minutes later, Warrick sauntered in, and before Sara had a chance, pulled her into his arms. Holding her tight, Sara held on as well, as he murmured, "I'm glad you're back. I missed you a lot." For a couple of minutes, they just held and mumbled sentiments back and forth. Grissom had told Sara about Warrick's problems with the pills, his now pregnant soon to be ex-wife, and the mob boss. She'd worried for him, because she'd been in his place before. Finally pulling back, she held onto his hands and smiled.

"I hope you found what you were searching for, Sara," he said, a strong hint of understanding in his voice. Of everyone on the team, she had not thought Warrick would understand best, but from his face, he did. He'd fought problems of his own for years, and faced them down successfully.

Daring a very un-Sara-like act, she leaned up, kissed his cheek, and whispered into his ear, "I recently discovered that demons are harder to fight alone."

Looking at Nick, and deciding since her domain was about to be invaded already anyway, she asked Warrick, "Would you like to come over for breakfast?"

When he nodded, and said, "Hell, yeah; that sounds great," Sara decided not to panic quite yet. The fact that she burned water in a pan just yesterday, and set the oven on fire the day before would _not_ be a deterrent. She just wondered what Gil would think when she asked him to play the part of chef.

_He must understand why I always eat take-out or make him cook by now,_ ran through her mind.

Catherine and Greg walked into the break room, and Catherine immediately smiled at Sara.

"We ended up only having to gather some samples and bring them back for processing. Nick and I decided to just enter your notes for the case," Catherine explained. Wincing, she added, "I'm sorry about your night out. It sounds like you've had a run of bad luck on that end."

Simply smiling, Sara returned, "You have no idea."

Watching Greg carefully, Sara approached him, her heart tumbling at the blank expression on his face. No joy or even anger registered, just a bland look of not caring graced his features. Of everyone here, she had been most nervous to see Greg again. Still not acknowledging her, Sara murmured, "Can I speak to you in the hall?"

For a moment, she thought he would ignore the request, and she felt a defiant self-preservation steel her spine. Placing a similar look to his on her own face, she walked out into the hall and pretended not to care if he followed. She didn't show that she was thrilled when he did.

"Besides Gil, I missed you the most," she quietly said, not allowing her voice to carry beyond their small area. When he didn't respond, she added, "Of everyone here, you are most like a brother to me, and you are my best friend."

Snapping, he responded in a harsh whisper, "If I'm your best friend, you wouldn't have just left."

"Yes, I would have," she quickly replied, contradicting his very belief. Taking his hand and watching the anger wash over his face, Sara continued, "I didn't have a choice anymore. I didn't have control anymore. I couldn't find anyone anymore. I know the way I left was bad, but I would have still left. What I needed couldn't be found here."

"I don't know if I can trust you," he wearily replied, leaving a burning sensation in her chest.

"All I want is a chance," she murmured. Time ticked by under his hard stare. When he sharply nodded, Sara didn't allow herself to feel relief. She had a lot to make up for with Greg, and she knew the road was not going to be fast or smooth. A soft smile on her lips, she extended the breakfast invitation to him, and hesitated while he contemplated his answer.

Finally, his lips turned up very slightly, and he replied, "Okay."

With a few minutes left before shift, Sara asked Catherine if she was busy after work. When Catherine replied, "No", Sara hid her nervousness and said, "It looks like we're having something of a team breakfast this morning at our place. Care to come?"

Catherine's wide smile was answer enough. _This ought to be interesting,_ she thought.

By the time Grissom arrived in the break room, Sara had developed a mental list of items she would need to purchase on her way home. She was also thinking through the possible ways she would break it to her husband. It turned out that she didn't need to worry about that part. Nick did it for her.

He walked in the door just in time to hear Nick ask, "So, Sara, what are you going to cook us?" and stopped in his tracks.

Peering under hooded eyelids at her husband from the comfortable position on the couch, Sara shrugged.

When he didn't react, she gave an invisible sigh of relief, only to have his eyes lock with hers. She could almost hear his thoughts, _you did what? And who do you expect to actually cook? I like our home, but are you sure you really want people coming over? _Glancing back down at the slips, he kept the bland, very Grissom-ish look on his face.

Settling down to business, he looked at Greg and said, "Please go get Wendy."

While he was gone, Grissom handed out copies of Sara's proposal to the rest of the team. Once Greg returned with the DNA tech and they were given copies of the document, Sara got up and paraphrased the arrangement made with Ecklie.

"So… you won't be a CSI anymore?" Greg asked, surprised.

Shaking her head, Sara explained, "I'll be in the field as a CSI until I start my project, and Wendy gets her application pushed through – probably the next two weeks. Also, if the need arises and cases get stacked up, I'll be available to work as a CSI. Otherwise, I'll be taking over Wendy's role, and working on my research project." Looking at Wendy, she asked, "Are you ready for the transition?"

"Oh yeah," the DNA tech replied, thrilled and a bundle of nerves at the prospect.

Handing Sara a slip of paper, Grissom explained, "Ecklie is arranging to have the wall taken out between two of the larger storage rooms at the end of the hall. The inventory kept there will be shifted around. He's already ordered a secure door to be added. That will be your office and laboratory."

"I talked to Janie today, and the funding is being transferred into two accounts – one for research materials, the other for staff," Sara informed him, then added, "She's also sending over some of the most recent top-of-the-line equipment for us. Doc Robbins will be thrilled, because she's sending a new three-dimensional modeling system that projects renderings of the states of decomposition, based on the victim."

"In the meanwhile, we go on as before," Grissom stated matter-of-factly.

Picking up his slips, he looked at Greg, and said, "We have an assault that needs to be processed. Take Wendy with you for a couple of hour." Turning to Wendy, her queried, "Unless there's a rush on anything?" She quickly shook her head 'no'.

Turning, he said, "Nick, Catherine, finish up the case at the restaurant." Finally, looking at Sara, he quietly asked, "Can you handle a domestic?" winced, and rephrased, "Warrick, Sara, you have a domestic abuse." He hadn't meant to say the first part out loud, but he knew she'd begun to accept some limitations on the cases she handled. _Way to go, idiot,_ he thought to himself.

Attempting to change the topic and hopefully divert the overtly curious gazes at Sara, Grissom turned to Nick and Warrick, and asked, "Am I correct in assuming we will not have another incident with the under-sheriff involving a field hockey stick?"

"Field hockey?" Sara asked, eyeing the two men.

"Just… don't ask," Nick muttered glumly in memory of being forced to go home, stay home, and not come back for days on end. It would have been a relief, had the woman he was getting serious about not been out of town.

"You could have both been fired," Grissom stated, still mildly irritated with them.

"Won't happen again, boss," Nick stated soberly, with Warrick murmuring similar sentiments.

In the silence Sara caught Gil's eye and smiled. "So, you and I get a domestic, huh?" was all she said, snatching the slip out of his hand.

"If anyone needs me, I'll be in my office," Grissom informed the room, and headed out.

Looking at Warrick she challenged, "I'm driving," and prepared for the argument.

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A/N – Okay, I can't think of anything clever, so I'll resort to begging. Please please please? Will you hit the review button?


	5. Chapter 5

A/N – Okay, another chapter in the saga. I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer – If I "accidentally" forget to put one, what do you think the judge for the case will say? Oh. Never mind. The judge will probably have read the rest of the ridiculous disclaimers I've written and throw my butt in jail.

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Sara may have grabbed the slip, but Warrick had the car keys. In the end after much arguing, he ended up driving. The argument felt so normal, he didn't say a word as she flipped to her favorite station and settled back for the drive to Henderson.

On the fourth or fifth not so discreet glance from Warrick, Sara casually asked, "Can I help you? I really don't want to die because you won't keep your eyes on the road."

"Is this case going to bother you?" Warrick asked, having not forgotten the comment Grissom made earlier. When he didn't receive an answer in the first few minutes, he figured she had no intention of providing one, so he let the radio fill the air.

Reaching out, Sara suddenly shut down the music, allowing the car to be permeated with thick silence.

Feeling her gaze, he decided to turn her words back on her, "It'll be easier to fight your demons if you're not alone, Sara. In this, you don't _have_ to be alone."

Closing her eyes, she took a calming breath, and sat back in her seat. Moments of silence passed, with nothing but the sound of tire on pavement causing a humming noise.

"Have you ever had a secret so deep and so dark, you want to disappear?" she rhetorically asked, knowing he had demons of his own he had to deal with.

Time marched by, like the passing of the city, and both contemplated in silence.

"I'll help you fight your demons, if you'll help me fight mine," Warrick offered. When she looked over and smiled, he know the offer was accepted.

Arriving at the scene of the domestic abuse incident ten minutes later, Warrick and Sara companionably retrieved their kits from the car and entered the residence. The small second floor apartment door opened directly into the thin, long living room. A breakfast bar on the opposite side of the room separated the living space from a tiny kitchen.

On the right wall of the living room and kitchen area were four doors. The first door, immediately inside the entry space, appeared to be the coat closet. The next three doors consisted of a small bedroom, a bathroom with only a toilet, sink, and shower stall, and a larger bedroom.

When Detective Vega walked into the room, he smiled and said, "Good to see you, Sidle… I mean Grissom," and laughed like it was the funniest joke in the world.

Giving him her own version of _the look_ the smile ceased, and she said, "You can call me Sara, and I'll probably answer to Sidle out of habit."

Quickly changing the subject, he described the scene as the responding police had found it, "The female victim, Ann Wicker got into a fight with her husband, Devon Wicker. The husband used a baseball bat to beat her up pretty good. She's being transported to Desert Palms. Neighbors heard the fight and called it in. The husband is under arrest for trying to hit one of the policemen for the moment."

Looking at the carpet, Warrick pointed out, "Some of these blood stains were not created tonight."

"Is she going to be okay?" Sara asked.

"Hopefully. She was conscious when emergency services arrived. At the very least, the EMTs figure she's going to need a lot of stitches, and she's going to be in a great deal of pain as the bruises heal," Vega responded. "She was alert and capable enough to give us permission to look through her house, and inform us she'll be pressing charges."

Walking through the scene, Vega escorted the CSIs into the master bedroom and said, "It started in here. Apparently, they started arguing in bed, and he punched her. She got up and went into the living room, and the fight continued. He was drunk and maybe stoned, picked up the bat, and went after her here." Vega indicated the blood soaked area next to the couch.

"I'll take the bedroom and meet you out here," Sara murmured, moving towards the room in question. Pulling out her camera, she took shots of the beer cans stacked on one side of the bed, and the overturned lamp. Sliding open each dresser drawer, Sara carefully moved the contents, trying not to disturb the the victim's belongings more than necessary.

Picking up the wedding picture of a shy young woman, looking adoringly at a young man, Sara murmured, "This must be her nightstand." She went through every drawer, finding nothing significant. Finally, she moved towards the husband's nightstand.

"Vega, you better come in here," she hollered into the other room.

"Do you think she's lucky he didn't use this?" she asked once the detective stood in the doorway, holding up a Glock 22.

"I'm going to guess we can add a few charges for this bad boy," Vega said in reply.

"More than you know," Sara added, holding up an evidence bag containing a vial of crack cocaine, and a pipe.

As Sara processed her way out of the master bedroom into the living room, Vega, who had been called outside, made his way back into the apartment.

Solemnly he informed everyone present, "It looks like we're going for murder charges. Ann Wicker died a few minutes ago."

The mood turning deeply sober, Sara opened the door to the other bedroom.

"Do the Wickers have kids?" she asked from the doorway.

"Their son was taken by social services shortly before you arrived," Vega confirmed for her. The door-to-door yielded a lot of 'we don't want to get involved', but a couple of people said he took it out on their three year old, as well.

"I really want him nailed to the wall," Sara murmured, moving into the room, and performing a cursory inspection. The room itself was well-kept, clean, and very unlike the rest of the house. It contained a feeling of warmth and home that every other room missed out on. Ann Wicker had obviously spent a great deal of energy making sure her son had a safe surrounding.

The scene they'd initially thought would take a couple of hours, ended up taking six, as more and more evidence came out of each room. Sara and Warrick worked side-by-side, most often in silence, unless getting an opinion, until they'd marked, gathered, and collected all the evidence they could find. When they left, both CSIs knew there was enough to bury the husband.

"I feel bad for the kid," Warrick stated on their drive back to the lab.

"He'll learn to suck it up," Sara replied, fatigue and lack of food setting in.

Once back in the lab, they placed their evidence in a locker, and made their way to the break room. Grabbing someone's apple, not really caring whose apple it was at that point, Sara laid down on the couch and rested her eyes. Warrick sat slumped in a chair.

Grissom found them at nine o'clock that morning in the layout room, logging the evidence and writing up their notes.

"I heard the domestic turned into a murder," he said from the doorway.

Sara looked up from her computer and sighed, "Yeah. We're waiting on DNA for confirmation, but there are a lot of older bloodstains around the place, as well. We photographed everything, took samples, and now we're waiting on results from the autopsy and Wendy."

"This," she held up a stack of photographs she'd taken encased in plastic, "is the last of the evidence I need to log for today."

Holding out his hand, Grissom helped Sara rise.

Looking at the clock, she was surprised at the time, looked at Warrick, and asked, "How long have we been doing this?" The kinks in her back and neck gave way to minor cramping, and she began to stretch out the muscles.

"If you want to take off, I'll put your evidence in lock-up," Warrick offered.

Turning her head, she asked, "Is everyone else back yet?"

"They should be finished fairly soon," Grissom replied.

Smiling back at her co-worker, she laughed, "I'll see you at ten o'clock then?"

"Sounds good," came the yawning reply, followed by a tired laugh.

Once outside the layout room, Grissom frowned, when he said, "I ran into Jim. Don't laugh, but apparently whatever virus you have is catching, because I invited him to breakfast, as well."

It was difficult, but Sara managed to withhold the smile – mostly.

Walking down the hall to Grissom's office, Sara casually snuck a few glances at her husband. Upon entering his office, he closed the door and turned her, as she grinned. Once facing, he leaned in close, his lips just above that sensitive spot below her ear, and whispered, "Shall I cook or do we want to order in breakfast?"

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A/N – Okay, do you see that little review button? Isn't it awfully pretty? I think it is. I think it's so pretty that you can't even resist it. So why should you? Don't resist the power of the button!


	6. Chapter 6

A/N – Okay, here's another chapter. It's a little on the short side. I hope you enjoy. Please review.

Disclaimer – Oooh, Without a Trace is on right now. I don't have time for a disclaimer.

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Sara opened the door to grab the newspaper she knew lay outside, saying a few choice words, and sucking on her burning finger.

"Come on in, guys," she absently invited, throwing the paper on the side table, and stepped aside as Warrick and Nick approached.

They quietly followed her back to the kitchen, taking in the ambiance of the home. From the doorway, Grissom stood with his back to them. Sara walked over and shoved her finger under the sink to her husband's left, cursing resoundingly again. When Grissom grinned, she glared at him.

"Sweetheart, I told you to stay out of the kitchen for a reason," he said, his voice the sound of reason. With a quick flip of his wrist, the omelet tossed and landed on the other side. "Look," he said turning towards her, "make the coffee. You make excellent coffee. You don't burn coffee." Leaning in, he captured her lips, deepened the kiss, and heard a muffled sound from the hall. At the sight of two grinning CSIs, he broke off and gave them the look he usually reserved for the lab.

"Gil, we have company," she informed him, and walked Nick and Warrick into the living room. Heading back to make coffee, she grinned at his raised eyebrows.

As the coffee set to brew, the doorbell rang, and Brass, Catherine, and Greg were ushered in. "Please, let's go into the living room," she said, and preceded them to where Nick and Warrick waited. "I'll get the coffee," she mumbled, as she became the uncomfortable center of attention.

Entering the kitchen, she hissed, "Why did we invite them again?"

"Your idea," he cheerfully declared, before catching sight of the expression on her face. This time, checking the entire kitchen first, he fanned his hands on the sides her waist and drew her to him. Leaning down, he whispered, "Just relax, honey. It's going to be good."

Leaning into him, she chuckled, "You can't stand the idea of other people invading your space, and you know it." Kissing his cheek, she whispered, "Thank you."

Returning with the coffee tray, Sara began pouring the brew for her colleagues, who sat sprawled in various places, laughing over some joke. These same cohorts would draw her into jokes and games all the time, and for a moment, she was stunned by it. They'd really been there all along. For the first time, she realized how much she'd really missed the camaraderie.

With a mumbled, "Excuse me," she made her way to the bedroom and sat on the bed. When Hank padded over and laid his head on her lap, she put her hands in her face and muffled a sob that threatened to overwhelm. It wasn't two minutes before Grissom sat down on the bed next to her.

"What's going on in your head?" he quietly asked, and amended to himself, _I better not hear fine, good, or okay_.

Taking a deep breath, she suddenly felt ridiculous.

"I just realized what I had here - what I left behind," Sara said, tears welling, and wiping them away with irritation.

"They're a little worried right now, since you turned pale and walked back here," he told her. Laying a kiss on her palm, sincerity in his eyes, he said, "They care about you. As do I."

Lifting Sara to her feet, Gil pulled her into a hug. After a few moments, he asked, "Are you ready?"

She pulled back, smiled tremulously, and took a deep breath.

"Sorry about that," she quietly told the group as she grabbed herself a cup of coffee and sat next to Greg on the couch.

"You guys have a really nice home here," Catherine said, a hint of surprise in her voice. The last time she'd been in this townhouse, the walls had been extremely dark and masculine. She knew Grissom had decent taste, but the colors of sand and iron were truly lovely, and she figured Sara had a great deal more to do with the cozy room decoration. Surprisingly, everything she'd seen felt very homey, and less sterile than the last time she'd been there, years ago.

"Catherine," Sara began, a hint of amused annoyance evident, "believe it or not, we _do_ have some taste," but mumbled under her breath, "even if we do live with cages filled with cockroaches."

Greg, having heard the comment, choked on a sip of coffee, startling everyone. When the coughing fit turned to full out laughter, everyone looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "Cockroaches?" he asked once he gained control of himself.

"I pretend they don't exist," she soberly explained, "that way I don't need to feel like I have things crawling all over me."

When Grissom announced that breakfast was ready, everyone made their way to the dining room, and eyed the platter of omelets suspiciously. The fruit salad looked okay, but who knew what was cooked into the egg mixture, since no one had been supervising the entomologist in the kitchen.

However, without hesitation, Sara dished for herself what she knew was a vegetable-laden omelet, and piled some fruit onto her plate. Taking the cue, Jim reached out plated his own breakfast, and the others followed suit.

"So, since we didn't actually see anything, what happened at the restaurant last night?" Sara asked Nick.

"What the evidence shows is that a newly married couple went out with the wife's ex-husband. They were there to discuss visitation arrangements," Nick explained.

Brass took up the story, "The wife wanted to give her ex a chance to know the current husband a little better, since she had primary custody of their child. Since her friend owns the restaurant, she's a regular patron, so they decided to meet there for a quiet meal and discussion. When the new husband tried to give the ex advice on his son, the amicably divorced became not so amicably divorced. They started yelling. Punches were thrown between the men, and one of them gets knocked down. By some freak chance, the new husband hit his head at just the right angle to kill him."

"In the end, we picked up enough evidence to support the stories told by the witnesses, although it wasn't too hard, considering the two of you had already tagged it," Nick concluded.

"You know," Greg said, swallowing an enormous bite, "this is great, Griss."

"Thank you," Grissom replied.

"I thought you were going to cook," Nick stated, staring at Sara.

When Grissom grinned, Sara glared at him. She confessed, "I can't cook." At her husband's raised eyebrows, she could read in his eyes what he wanted. She imagined it was something like, _You pulled me into this, you get to tell them all about your culinary skills._ Sara grunted, "Fine. The fact that I haven't burned down the house is amazing." She narrowed her eyes at that lopsided grin, pretending it didn't make her heart stutter.

Jim watched the exchange, and didn't even attempt to hide his grin. The laugh came of its own volition when Grissom broke eye contact first.

"So… Sara, tell us about this research project you're working on." Greg demanded. He knew she had a Physics masters degree from Berkley, but had no clue as to the topic of her thesis or what research she'd been a part of while there.

Smirking at her husband, she sat back in her chair.

"Janie McDaniels and I took a lot of classes together," Sara explained. "We used to spend our time outside of class and the lab discussing applications of theoretical physics in the real world. When I started studying forensics, it opened up a world of possibilities. Janie took the ball and ran with it, and I ended up a CSI."

Sara took a sip of her coffee before adding, "Janie's been trying to get me to work as head of R&D since she founded her company fourteen years ago. So, when I visited with her in Silicon Valley awhile back, she took the opportunity to corner me again. This time, I listened."

Looking around the table, her face unreadable, Sara said, "I didn't know if I could come back here. I wasn't sure I could… deal."

"I'm glad you found your way home," Warrick said, smiling.

"Thanks," she replied, a slight smile forming. After another sip, she continued, "There's one idea I developed back in Berkley, but at the time, it wasn't realistic to attempt to develop the concept into reality. One issue was the existing technology couldn't handle it efficiently. Another issue was cost. The cost for a prototype, even today, is going to be in the millions."

"Yes, but what is it you're trying to build?" Greg asked impatiently.

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A/N – I'll let you know what my geeky mind came up with if I get enough reviews, so make sure to hit the Submit Review button and let me know what you think. Thanks!


	7. Chapter 7

A/N – Okay, I'm really happy I studied the sciences heavily in school (started in the Physics program in college, and ended up with a math degree) and am married to an engineer. I came up with a few ideas, and he helped me flush them out. Without further ado… let me continue breakfast with the Grissoms.

A/N 2 – To the hubby. Thank you for your time and patience, and not laughing too hard at my first idea.

Disclaimer – Everyone… shut your eyes and imagine I'm NOT getting sued. Thank you for your happy thoughts.

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Sara took a sip of coffee, and tried to think of the best way to describe her "pet" project – something she'd started thinking about well over a decade ago, and before she'd decided for sure to become a CSI.

"Imagine walking into a crime scene, and being able to render it virtually," she said.

"Archie can do that, already," Nick replied.

A knowing smile on Gil's face, he sat back in his chair and contemplated his wife. He'd heard her lay out the design before. Every time she talked about one of her projects, she'd become like a kid that had just been given the biggest treat in the store, and could hardly sit still.

When she began to fidget in her chair, he thought, _Ahhh… here we go._

"Okay, Nick, be my guinea pig," she said, rising from her chair, and pulling him up. "Describe what you see."

Looking around the room, he began, "I see a dark oak dining table, with the ends extended. There are eight chairs. In the room are Sara, Griss, Catherine, Warrick, Greg, and Jim."

He stopped and looked at Sara. "Do I include myself?"

"No, you're not part of the scene – you're the observer, although you can make comments and add your interactions audibly as you go," she replied.

Nick continued, "The dining room is next to the kitchen," and he looked at the arch leading into the aforementioned room. "Another door leads to the hallway." He looked at the other archway.

"On the table are seven plates, and a platter," Nick concluded.

"Look for the smaller things," Sara prompted.

Carefully looking for something small, he spotted a hair, "A single strand of blond hair is sitting on the table top."

Smiling wide, excitement barely contained, Sara said, "You can take your seat."

She asked, "How would you like to be able to catalog all of that without having to stop and take notes all the time?"

"Even better, how would you like to just look around the room, and have it automatically detect the measurements of the room, the larger objects, and render them on a remote server?" she asked.

"How about having this virtual room set up somewhere, and as you go, with minimal commands, you can zoom in, take photographs, and have them logged at a marked evidence point in the virtual room," Sara declared. "How would you like to be able to tell the V/R gear to zoom in and take a snapshot of the hair strand, and have it placed exactly as-is in the room created on the server?"

Walking around the room, slowly, she continued, "We've all worked outside in poor weather. Sometimes, it's impossible to even _find_ evidence, because it's obscured when it gets wet."

Standing behind her husband, she absently placed her hands on his shoulders and began to rub.

Squinting in concentration, she expanded, "With scalable infra-red built into the device, it'll be possible to detect evidence based on heat content. For example, metal is going to show a heat signature difference than dirt or rock."

"Can you create a virtual room outside, where there aren't any walls?" Catherine asked, intrigued by the concept, and seeing a multitude of uses for a system like this.

"Absolutely!" Sara declared. "Other reference points can be used instead of walls to define the space. Even better, the virtual spaces can be tied together to create a bigger picture. If I define and search this dining room, I can do the same with the kitchen, and place them together for a more complete view."

"I'd like to eventually make it sensitive enough to pick up evidence of hidden blood, especially in carpeting, based on iron content, but… that may be a pipe dream."

Chuckling, Sara slyly looked around the room and said, "I get a little excited about this project. I've been dreaming about it for a long time."

Pausing, she asked, "So, are there any questions?"

Greg had been stuck for awhile. Looking around the room, he noticed everyone watching Sara intently, mulling over the idea. All were smiling.

Standing solemnly, Greg caught Sara's gaze, and asked what he figured was the most important question of all. "Will we get to wear cool V/R goggles, like in this movies?"

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A/N – Let me know what you think of Sara's project by hitting the Review button at the bottom. I'm psyched!


	8. Chapter 8

**NOTE: I changed chapter 1 for those who haven't read it since before 5:30 Mountain Standard Time (December 21****st****). I tried throwing a cool song in, and I personally found it tedious, so I modified it.**

A/N – Back to the story. Please review. Thanks.

Disclaimer – I'm in the Christmas spirit. I hope the lawyers at CBS are in the Christmas mood, because I like my house, my car, and my family. It'd suck to get tossed on the street in winter because the lawyers make a good case.

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Once the laughter died down from Greg's oh-so-serious question, Sara smiled, and responded, "Actually, Greg… I can make the V/R gear in any way I want. If I had assistance in the design, the person aiding me would have input."

Warrick asked, "Will you be testing this in the field?"

"I'm still negotiating that with Ecklie, but I think he's just arguing for the sake of arguing," Sara replied. "It's going to be quite awhile before anything will be ready for field testing. I've got teams designing software and specific pieces of hardware in other parts of the country, based on the schematics and specifications I will provide."

"I imagine your lab will be ready in about a week," Grissom said.

A slight smile on her face, Sara quietly said, "I'll miss being in the field all the time. I didn't realize how much I would miss it when I was gone, but… I'm burnt out."

It was the hardest thing she'd ever had to say, but she felt an obligation to these people to let them know. Her expression somber, she added, "I _will_ help out in the field on a limited basis. I just can't imagine going back to it full time, and investing as much of myself as I have. I think I'll be content spending most of my time in the DNA lab."

Standing, Nick surprised her with a hug, and smiled, "You're always welcome to join us. You know that."

"Thanks," she replied, a slight smile on her face.

"Well, I'm exhausted," Warrick said, rising. Taking the cue, the rest of the team followed suit and headed out.

Once the dishes were taken care of and the kitchen cleaned up, Sara yawned wide, kissed her husband on the cheek, and murmured, "I'm going to bed, are you coming?"

He answered by nuzzling her neck.

Little by little Sara relaxed, as her husband did his best to show her with his hands and mouth how much he loved having her home. After they slowly entangled themselves with one another, reaching the crest, and falling home, they slept.

When she woke with a nightmare, hours later, he held her, letting his heat and words provide comfort, as they sank back into dreamless slumber.

They had gotten used to going into the lab separately, and decided to break the habit. Since they worked the same shift, they would simply wait for one another. Having talked on the way home from San Francisco, Sara had told him about missing him when she didn't see him for days on end. He'd echoed the sentiment.

"I'm waiting to see if Doc Robbins performed the autopsy yet on my vic," Sara said, taking a sip of coffee from her travel mug.

Grissom soberly apologized, "I'm very sorry about asking you if you were okay to handle a domestic abuse case in front of the team. It was not intentional, and I know it made you uncomfortable."

Feeling tendrils of discomfort at the topic in general, she replied, "It's all right. I felt a bit embarrassed when you said it, but… eventually they're going to put it together." Quietly serious, she said, "I think Warrick already has."

Nodding his head sharply and gripping the steering wheel harder, Grissom whispered, "I know you can handle any case, but if you want to bypass certain cases, I'm okay with that. You told me not long ago, that you realized recognizing weaknesses doesn't make you a victim. Personally, I think it takes guts to back know when you've had enough. You have more courage than anyone I've ever met."

Her eyes misting slightly, she smiled and laid her hand on his knee, kneading it a little.

"I do love you, Gilbert," she sighed, before settling back into her seat once again.

Early as usual, Sara took the liberty of checking the evidence from Warrick's and her case out of the locker, and placing it on the layout table.

"Would you care for some help, my dear?" Grissom asked.

"Sure," she replied, her face a mask of concentration. "However, there's not a great deal left to be done. We just need to get the results from autopsy to add into the mix. Right now, I'm making sure each piece is logged appropriately, and writing up my notes."

Warrick found Grissom and Sara twenty minutes later placing the evidence back in the locker.

"Finished?" Warrick asked, surprised.

When hers and Warrick's pagers buzzed, she said, "All but this," and indicated Robbins on her caller ID.

"Look, you finished out the evidence, so why don't I take the vic," Warrick offered. There'd been recognition in her voice at the crime scene and in the car that made sense in light of Grissom's poorly timed question yesterday.

Warrick had been thinking about it ever since and suddenly a great number of her reactions at domestic abuse and rape cases made sense. Somewhere, someone had hurt her, and not just once. He knew the statistics, just as he knew that if ever someone were able to dig, they'd find a social services file on a young Sara Sidle.

Sara turned, and soberly said, "Thank you, but I'd like to go."

Bidding Grissom goodbye, they started towards the morgue.

"I said you'd be okay," Warrick said, pausing. He repeated continued, "The day you left, I said you'd be okay – that you were a tough cookie," Warrick said, his face expressionless. "That was a stupid thing to say, because I saw something in your eyes and ignored it."

Sara stared straight forward, listening and walking.

"I'm sorry," he murmured as they approached the morgue.

Bidding herself to remain neutral and expressionless, she just nodded at his words, but stopped herself from going in.

"I was brought here initially to investigate you," she quietly said, her expression tight, "and somewhere along the way, you became a friend. I know you have a problem with addiction. It may have been just gambling at the beginning, but I should have said something when I saw the pills. I should have recognized it."

"Do you think maybe we can chalk it up to both of us being too out of it to see what was in front of our nose?" Warrick asked, smiling.

A tense moment later, the corners of Sara's lips turned up slightly, and she said, "Yeah. I think maybe we can."

"So tell me doc, what do you have for our vic?" she asked.

"It's actually fairly straight forward," Robbins replied, sadly shaking his head.

Tugging off the sheet, Robbins went over the body, "There are a multitude of bruises covering her. She has multiple broken ribs. It's the damage to the skull that ended her life, though."

Pulling back the scalp to show the skull itself, specifically pointing to a compressed part of the skull, with chips of bone wedged inward or missing altogether.

"She died of an epidural hematoma," Robbins explained, "You can see where she was hit up the side of the head."

Standing back, he continued, "While there are a great number of fractures across the skull, as you can see, the resulting break in the temporal bone broke through the artery there," he pointed.

"Thanks doc," Warrick said, as he and Sara made their way through the lab.

"She was pretty," Sara murmured. "There was a wedding picture on her nightstand, and she radiated happiness. There were pictures of their child on the dresser. She created a haven in her child's room. Her husband made her into something ugly."

They were late for assignments, but arrived in the break room in time to spy coffee, and smell Greg's special blend. With a smile, they poured themselves a cup and walked the halls.

Sara's mind whirled, as she thought about the little boy. One thing she would never understand was why a parent would ever let it get that bad.

Shaking her head, she though, _Put it away. Look at it later_.

"Shall we go find Grissom?" Sara asked, heading towards the door.

"Sounds like a plan," Warrick concurred.

Finding Gil in his office, he looked up as they entered, and handed them each an address.

"Warrick, why don't you join Catherine? She's got an assault on the strip," he said, handing Warrick a slip with the address.

"Sara, Nick and Greg have a body at a cemetery," he informed her, handing her a slip with the address.

Not able to contain it, she had to ask, "Griss, aren't there _normally_ dead people in cemeteries?" and Warrick worked hard to hold back the chuckle.

"Very funny," Grissom muttered, having already heard it all from Nick and Greg earlier.

Warrick and Sara took off, heading off to their respective crime scenes. Expecting an interesting case, considering she'd never worked a DB in an actual cemetery, she didn't anticipate what would happen when she arrived.

The first thing Sara did was trip over an extra body…

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A/N – Let me know what you think. Thanks to everyone for reviewing. Tis the season to be nice and hit the Review button!


	9. Chapter 9

A/N – Okay, here we are. Another chapter. Thanks for reading. Please review.

Disclaimer – My decorations look really nice, so I'd rather look at them than write about being sued.

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A police cruiser sat in the dark lane of the cemetery, its lights flashing, but the siren off. When Sara pulled her Denali next to Nick's, she got out, grabbed her silver case, and walked past the other vehicles. Looking around, she didn't see or hear… anyone. The pitch of night seemed to overwhelm everything around her.

From the flash of the lights of the cruiser, Sara could make out headstones several layers in, but nothing beyond. She could make out quiet voices, but not precisely determine their direction.

About two hundred yards in the distance, she could make out quick flashes of light, and mumbled, "There you are," to the air.

Flashlight in hand, Sara slowly made her way through row after row. She always hated walking through cemeteries. When she was thirteen, she and her two foster sisters snuck out and spent one Halloween night in the local cemetery. While the other girls tried to scare each other with tales of zombies bursting up, Sara's gaze had been transfixed on the headstone.

She hadn't worried about the corpse coming back alive, but had instead gone through the process of determining what became of a corpse placed in the ground. Sara was more afraid of what was happening to the body under where she stood, than whether or not the body would come back for her.

As she approached the dim lantern on the ground, Sara muttered, "I really hate these places," and felt a slight chill run up her spine as she stepped what she figured was probably walking directly across a row of graves.

The scream came as a surprise to all of them, including Sara, and it hadn't been because she'd tripped over a body, but because she slammed her head into the marble headstone on the way down.

"For crying out loud, guys," she muttered, "I just knocked the wind out of myself. A bandage and I'll be good."

The argument had been going on for half an hour, until the ambulance arrived.

"You know, I feel pretty ridiculous about this already," she argued, trying to stand up from the open back door of the emergency services vehicle.

Nick replied, "Sara, you were unconscious. You need to go to the hospital and get checked out."

Glaring, she answered back, "I was out for ten seconds, not ten hours, and I'm perfectly capable of doing my job."

"You were out for at least thirty seconds," Nick corrected. "You need to see if there's a concussion. You already have a nice cut on the side of your head."

"I'm with Nick on this," Greg interjected. He'd watched Sara work herself to the bone most of the time he'd known her. While he'd noticed some subtle differences since her return, most things in hadn't changed. From what he'd seen, she was the same Sara who had left in November.

"You can either argue with me and give me a headache, or get out of my way," she continued, "either way, I'm doing my job."

This time it was the EMT that shoved her back down, to bandage her head, not Nick.

Parking his car behind hers, Grissom made his way to the ambulance.

Sara's eyes narrowed at Nick when she saw her husband. She scowled, seething, "You didn't have to call him."

"No, _you_ should have," Grissom calmly interjected. No one but Sara seemed to notice how he was grinding his back teeth.

"I'm fine," she firmly insisted, her voice raising, exasperated that everyone was making such a big deal.

Leaning in, Gil whispered, "Isn't that line getting old?" in her ear.

Standing up, she gave the EMT a look that dared him to push her back down, and stood toe-to-toe with the graveyard supervisor.

"That was a cheap shot," she said back, her voice low and angry.

Mentally sighing, Grissom looked at her and asked, "What happened?"

"I found the body," she informed him.

Confused, he looked at Greg and Nick. Greg supplied, "She found the second body. We were working the original scene ten yards over. Sara tripped over another body, and cracked her head on a tombstone."

Looking at her feet, then back to her husband, she muttered, "Well, now I really am pissed off." Reaching down, she yanked off her boots. "Greg, these are now part of the crime scene."

While Greg placed her boots in a brown evidence bag, Grissom watched her with frozen features.

_I'm pretty sure he's mad, but I'm perfectly okay, and no one seems to be listening,_ she silently fumed. As a minute ticked by with the pair staring each other down, more and more thoughts filled her head, all along this similar vein.

"Sara, I'm taking you first to the hospital, and then I'm taking you home," he calmly informed her. He'd used that tone a few times when she'd reported directly to him, but it had been so long since she heard it, she flinched. It felt like a slap in the face.

Her face taking on a dull expression, she made her way to his car. Without another word, Grissom asked the EMTs if they thought it was safe for him to drive her to the hospital, and they agreed that since she seemed so alert, it should be fine. Once there, he pulled out both of their credentials and Sara had been taken into X-Ray almost immediately.

Once home, Sara walked into the bathroom, flipped on the shower, and stepped into the hot spray. She could feel the slight stickiness of blood from the cut on the scalp, and washed it away.

The doctor had felt that stitches were not necessary, and there was no sign of concussion. Rather, Sara had landed so hard she'd gotten the wind knocked out of her; when it took the diaphragm longer than usual to relax, she passed out, forcing the muscle to release, starting the flow of oxygen again.

Getting dressed, Sara started towards the kitchen.

When Grissom stood to talk to her, she blandly looked at him and walked past.

"I was worried about you," he said in his defense.

"This isn't helping right now, Gil," she replied, shaking her head at him when he tried to step towards her.

_I'm too angry to talk right now, _she thought, and calmly opened the refrigerator.

Focusing on the salad she intended to eat, Sara ignored her husband until she heard the front door close. Closing her eyes, she sat in front of the refrigerator for several minutes before the cold registered.

_He doesn't get it, I'm not some project. I'm not a broken doll._


	10. Chapter 10

A/N – I had a hard time writing this. I finally got Super Thermal Underwear Man from the Undie World (thanks to my eight year old) out of my head in time for my four year old to stick an image of reindeer pulling a chicken in there. Aren't kids great? If nothing else, you're never bored.

Disclaimer – It's not my fault. My muse made me do it.

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Determined and fuming, Sara grabbed her cell phone.

"Willows," came the greeting on the other end.

"Catherine, it's Sara."

"Are you okay?" Catherine asked.

"I'm fine. I really was only out for a few seconds. There's no concussion, and although the cut on my scalp is over two inches long, it wasn't too deep… just bled like a bitch," Sara explained.

"Nick called to let me know Grissom was taking you to the hospital," Catherine said.

After exhaling a long, calming breath, "I should have called you myself. Sorry about that."

Sara could nearly hear the gears moving as Catherine asked, "Grissom took you home, then?"

"Yes, he did," Sara ground out, "and I'm perfectly fine."

Catherine could easily make out the angry edge in Sara's voice, and asked, "I take it Grissom decided you shouldn't be working tonight?"

"Oh, yes," Sara replied, those two words saying it all.

"Tell me what the doctor in the emergency room said," Catherine demanded.

Sara took a deep breath and explained, "When I fell, I slammed flat and hard after hitting my head on the gravestone. It knocked the wind out of my sails. What Nick assumed was me being unconscious was me with my eyes closed trying to get my breath back. Since that didn't happen right away, I passed out for a few seconds. The doctor cleared me. I'm hale and hearty, except for the stinging from the cut on my head."

Catherine's first thought had been to just let Grissom handle it. However, Sara was now _her_ responsibility, not his. "I'll pick you up in thirty minutes," the blond said. Either way, Catherine figured either Grissom or Sara was going to be angry with her. She happened to agree with Sara, though. If she wanted to go back and finish processing, Catherine didn't see a valid reason why she couldn't.

When Catherine arrived, Sara met her at the front door, "Thanks for taking me back to the scene."

"You do realize I'm now going to have to face Griss with the fact that I just overrode him," Catherine informed Sara.

"I know," Sara said quietly, "and I'm sorry about that."

"I should have been paying closer attention on the Marlon West case. I didn't supervise you at all on that," Catherine said.

Sara sat quietly, finally muttering, "It wouldn't have mattered. It was the desert that pushed me to that point."

Settling back in the passenger seat, Sara focused on the drive, all the while knowing there would be hell to pay later. Her husband was not the type to let it drop. If anything, she'd known him in the past to avoid her if he got angry or upset over something.

"I felt stupid," Sara blurted out. "I felt ridiculous walking through the graveyard. It made me feel jittery. When I found the body, I felt even more ridiculous. I think I may have screamed before I cracked my skull on the headstone."

A wry smile twisting her lips, Catherine said, "I can understand that. There's something about a graveyard at night that can put anyone's teeth on edge."

When they arrived, Brass was on-scene, and multiple lanterns and lights racks had been set up around the graveyard, so it was easy to find Nick and Greg. More patrol cars lined the narrow lane, and Sara could see patrolmen fanning out throughout the cemetery. Sara thanked her supervisor again, and waved her off.

"Hey guys," Sara greeted, walking up to where the body Sara had found still lay. "Wasn't David coming?"

Eyeing her carefully, Nick responded, "Yeah. He's running a little late, though. He's stuck in autopsy."

"The doctor cleared me," Sara reassured him.

"Good," Greg said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation, "welcome to your grave."

"Ha ha," came her reply, but she smiled when she said it.

Greg walked Sara over to the site of the first body, and looked around the graveyard, "We called in a few more bodies to perform a search. Finding the second body unnerved us a little. We want to make sure there aren't more."

"Describe what you've got so far," Sara said, eyeing the young man who lay face-down on the ground in front of her.

"We don't have an ID on the vic, but you can see what looks like an exit wound in his back. We'll know more once David gets here, and we can roll him," Greg explained. Walking her to the body of the next young man – the one she'd inadvertently stumbled across – he crouched down. "There's no ID on this one either."

"What do you need me to do?" she asked them.

Nick held up his camera and said, "I'm taking shots of the headstones around the victims."

"I'm dusting the headstones for prints," Greg added.

Looking out towards the patrolmen fanning out, Sara offered, "How about I check in with them, and start working the perimeter." Making verbal notes to herself, she murmured, "They had to come from somewhere." At their nods, they set to do the job.

Meanwhile, Catherine walked into Grissom's office and promptly sat uninvited across from him.

"I took Sara back to the cemetery," she informed him. "It wasn't your call to make."

"It never bothered you before," he evenly replied, never looking up from the paperwork, but thinking about Hannah and Marlon West. Catherine should have been supervising then, too, but had deferred to him to handle it.

"You're right," she admitted. "I intend to rectify it, though."

Rising from her chair, she waited until Grissom looked up from his paperwork and said, "I'm Sara's supervisor. You can't be. I suggest in the future you remember that or you'll have _two_ very pissed off women to deal with instead of one."

Approaching the door, Catherine turned back, adding, "You might want to ask yourself if you would want your spouse to yank you publicly from a crime scene against your will." With that parting shot, she left to find Warrick. He'd phoned her on her way to pick up Sara that he'd gotten everything from the assault loaded, and was heading back to the lab.

On a deep breath, Grissom sat back in his chair. When the call came from Nick just minutes later telling him they'd found two more bodies, Gil placed a call to Ecklie. A media storm was about to hit. He then called Warrick and Catherine. They needed all hands on deck. From what Nick said, the patrolmen were not even half done searching the graveyard.

Finally, Grissom placed another call.

"Yes?" Sara asked in a low, dull voice.

"We're pulling in the full crew on this one, so I'll be there shortly," he said.

When he received nothing but silence, he added, "I should have talked to you privately."

He winced at her, "Yes, you should have."

When he began to speak, Sara interrupted with, "Now really isn't the best time, Gilbert. I have to go. I'm getting flagged down by another patrolman."

Grissom frowned as she hung up. Calling him by his full name in that tone had a feeling of dread building up in his chest.

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A/N – Okay, people. Today is my birthday. So please be kind, and even if you think the story sucks, hit the review button and say "Happy Birthday old lady".


	11. Chapter 11

A/N – I have one more chapter for the day, although it's a short one.

Disclaimer – Feel free to write it for me.

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Grissom didn't arrive until over an hour later. He'd been waylaid by Ecklie, who wanted a review of the case. He'd spent most of the time repeating going over the state of the investigation with the lab director. The media were bound to get wind of the case… and soon. Considering that the bodies were piling up, it was going to be front page news.

By the time he pulled his car into the cemetery's narrow lane, the beginnings of a migraine had begun, with a throbbing pain behind his eyes. The sun had begun to rise, and the intensity of light stabbed him repeatedly, until he shoved his glasses in place.

"What do we have, Nick?" he asked, walking up. Looking over hundred yards away, he saw Sara animatedly speaking with a patrol woman. She really did look like she was okay. When she turned her head in his direction, he watched her stiffen, and a frown cross her features, before returning to the conversation with the officer.

"The first victim was found here," Nick said, indicating a headstone. The dry winter grass, tinged in brown and green, gave away the pool of blood. All of this stood out against the cream marble of the headstone, and the fake flowers that adorned it.

Walking a little ways down a couple of rows, he indicated, "The second victim was found here," and waved his hand to another large blood stain. Walking out towards Sara, Nick paused again, "We found the third victim here." This continued further into the cemetery, until they reached Sara.

"This is the sixth and last," Sara informed him, "We're waiting for the last two bodies to be collected by the coroner."

"What have you found so far?" Grissom asked, squinting his eyes, and fighting back the sudden surge of nausea, roiling up from his stomach.

As if on cue, Sara took up the narrative. Pointing towards two headstones, she said, "We've got blood splatter on the ground and a couple of the headstones. Greg's dusting for prints on the headstones, but some of them are made of too rough a material. He's pretty much dusting every grave in the place."

Motioning him to walk with her, Sara headed back to her car to grab another bottle of water, describing, "Nick's been taking pictures of absolutely everything. We've rolled a couple of bodies, and found slivers of wood embedded in the wounds. Furthermore, we've got some black fibers on two of the bodies."

Glad to be back on pavement, walking became a bit easier, although the minor buzzing in his ears made him run to cold sweats, and his stomach pitched again.

By the time they arrived at the cars, Sara had described all of the victims, adding, "None of them had identification, so we're hoping we'll get a hit on their prints or through CODIS."

Grabbing a bottle of water, she took a quick swig, and leaned back against her Denali. Shutting her eyes, she leaned her face up towards the sun, and gave a breathy sigh, "God it's been a long night."

"Yes, it has," he muttered under his breath, taking a deep breath in hopes of calming the lurching migraine. The sunglasses were no longer helping against the glare of light, and he could barely keep his eyes open. They felt like they were burning a dry hole through his eyelids.

The walk over, Sara had avoided looking at him. While she may have calmed down, she knew this wasn't the place to have a discussion about the incident earlier. It wasn't until they were leaned against her car that she snuck a glance… and noticed the pale tinge of his cheeks, the depth of breath, and the way his forehead creased.

Opening the back door of the Denali, she whispered, "Please get into the car." When he didn't move, she gave him a little bit of a push, until she ground out, "If you're going to be stubborn, then do it at home. You have a headache, and you like you're about to puke. So get in the back seat."

Finally, on a nod, he did as she asked, and waited for her to get in on the other side behind them. Nodding towards the dark tinted windows, she commented, "We'll have a little bit of privacy… not much, but enough."

While he sat sideways, Sara began to massage, starting at the sinuses at the front of his face, then back and down under his ears to below the jaw. Eventually, minutes ticked by, and Grissom began to relax. Her hands moved to his neck, and he let his head slump forward, letting out a groan. Using her fingers, she pressed, kneaded, and squeezed along his shoulders and neck, until she felt the muscles relax bit by bit.

"Where are your pills?" she whispered.

"At home," came his muffled reply. One of the reasons he hated migraines is because of their ability to rob him of any sense of balance. The pills made him feel – off – so he tended not to take them.

"I could get them for you, Gil," Sara softly offered, keeping her voice whisper soft to his agonizingly sensitive hearing.

"I'm feeling a little better," he whispered back.

Helping him lean back against the seat, she ran her fingers across her face, leaned in, and in a muted tone said, "Please either sit up here or lay down until it fades. Try to sleep a little, okay?"

As she quietly opened the door to give him some quiet, he reached out and held her arm.

"I don't understand what happened earlier," he said, giving way to his thoughts. "I know you're mad."

Smiling sadly, she leaned in and kissed his cheek, and whispered, "I'm still mad. Now isn't the time to talk about it, though."

"Schedule lunch," he murmured back, letting his eyes drift closed. "We'll go get something to eat together in a little while."

"All right," she said.

Checking her watch, she noted the time. He would need at least fifteen minutes, but no more than thirty for the headache to dissipate to manageable. Any more than thirty minutes, and he'd be groggy for hours. Had he already been throwing up, she knew it could take hours. She would soon know whether or not she really needed to go pick up his prescription.

In the meanwhile, she made her way back over to Nick, Greg, and Brass.

"Where's Grissom?" Nick asked.

"Migraine," Sara replied, looking back at the Denali. Turning to the others, she asked, "So… if you wanted to take your husband someplace to smack him around for first being an idiot, and second going to work when he's in horrendous amounts of pain, where could you do this AND get something to eat?"

Nick and Brass smirked, but Greg gave her the answer.

"Home."

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A/N – Okay, a short one, but I think a decent on. Let me know what you think of it. Thanks!


	12. Chapter 12

A/N – Another day, another chapter, albeit a short one. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed.

Disclaimer – It snowed. Do disclaimers get snow days?

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Sara told Nick and Greg to go get a bite to eat, and she walked the cemetery's perimeter with Brass.

"So, what's going on with you and Gil?" he asked, walking a reasonable clip.

"He can be an ass at times," she muttered.

"Okay," he responded.

Stopping to look out among the various patrolmen standing rooted in each death spot, Sara blew out a fast breath. "I'm capable of telling when I'm good. I wasn't hurt. The EMTs didn't see a problem except for this cut," she said, reaching up and slightly touching the stinging line in her hair.

"I heard he insisted you go to the emergency room," Brass replied.

"He didn't insist. He pretty much dragged me."

Brass thought about her words, "Sometimes he just… acts… in the way he thinks is best."

"He doesn't with anyone else," Sara responded. "He determined what I needed, without really asking me."

When she sighed, Brass quietly said, "You're the only person I've ever met that can make him stumble."

Looking at the detective, Sara quietly replied, "That doesn't give him the right to just… decide. I didn't get an explanation, just a 'this is what you're going to do'. It's not the first time, either."

"Did you tell him this?" Brass asked.

_He has a point,_ Sara thought, _but so do I._

"You're going to take him home for lunch when the boys get back, so talk while you're gone," Brass ordered. "Don't let this turn into something uglier than it is."

Turning back, Sara mumbled, "Thanks, Jim."

Walking back to the car, Sara considered her options, deciding her best course of action would first be to see if the worst of the migraine had faded a bit. She checked her watch and realized it had been a little over thirty minutes. Quietly opening the back door of the Denali, Sara watched Gil's relaxed face and smiled. _Good, he's not scrunching his forehead in his sleep_. Slowly, he ran her hand across his face, and smiled softly when his eyes flitted open.

"Hey," he whispered.

"Want to get something to eat?" she asked.

"Yeah." Sitting up, Grissom let the hazy fog clear from his mind. When they both got out and moved to the front seats of the vehicle, Sara paused. With a wave to the detective, she headed out.

"Where are we going?" Gil asked, not really paying attention to the scenery.

"Home. We only live ten minutes from here, so I thought I'd make us a salad," Sara supplied.

Since the salad was nearly made, she had it ready in a manner of minutes, and had her husband taking his prescription medication. They ate in tense silence for a few minutes, before she said, "You had no right to pull me from the scene."

"I should have talked to you in private, not in front of everyone," he concurred.

Slowly shaking her head, she responded, "It's not that. I wasn't happy about it being so… open like that. It did make me a little angry. It was that you decided for me what is best for me."

"I didn't mean it like that," he interjected.

"You made a decision on my behalf without my consent," she fumed. "Do you have any idea how ridiculously powerless that makes me feel?"

_No, I didn't. I didn't realize I was doing it,_ he thought to himself.

"This isn't the first time you've done this," she said.

"I'll try to not do it again. I just… worry," he finished quietly.

Sighing, she smiled at him. "I worry about you, too. However, I need you to talk to me before pulling the 'I'm in charge, so I've decided' attitude."

Looking down at his plate, he asked, "Then can you do me a favor and not react just because you can?"

At her confused look, he explained, "You could have said something to me. I realize now that there have been times when I've forced a decision on a half-assed discussion. Could you do me a favor and not do the opposite just because I decided something for both of us?"

Thinking back to how she'd called Catherine and asked her supervisor to take her back to the scene, without ever talking to Gil, Sara nodded. She knew this was a pattern they'd repeated on multiple occasions, and also knew it caused them both many sleepless nights.

"We seemed to talk more in San Francisco," she sighed.

"This place is filled with our history, and our bad habits. In California, the purpose of our being there and the habits we had developed were different," Grissom said, contemplating.

"There are some destructive habits I wouldn't mind breaking," Sara murmured.

"I really _am_ sorry for pulling you away the way I did," her husband said, holding out his hand as a peace offering.

Smiling, she took it, and added, "I'm sorry for not really talking to you."

Sighing, Sara looked at the clock and frowned, "We've got to get back to the scene. We're not done processing the scene."

"You can get me caught up again on the way. What you told me earlier is vague and a bit blurry," he admitted.

Placing their dishes in the sink, Sara chastised, "If you're not going to carry your medicine with you, then please put an extra bottle in my car."

When she turned around, she walked straight into him. Smiling, she tilted her face up. The kiss was slow, strong, and achingly forgiving… on both sides.

"I love you," she whispered into his ear.

"Me too," came his typical response.

With a quick hand, he reached into her pocket, snagged the keys, and kissed her – quick and hard. Slightly befuddled by the onslaught, he was halfway to do the door before she realized what he'd done, and went chasing after him.

He drove them back.

By the time they returned, the entire team was waiting. All bodies had been transported back to the morgue for autopsy, and Doc Robbins was well underway with the first. The group stood huddled together, as Sara and Grissom approached.

"A twenty says they're still fighting," Nick quietly murmured for Warrick's ears only. "You're on," Warrick whispered back.

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A/N – I'm keeping it simple. Too much wrapping to do. Please review. Thanks.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N – Okay, right about now, I can get pockets of time to write. Warning, I don't have time to do much of a review, so… I will apologize for any glaring errors.

Disclaimer – I'm listening to Christmas music. I'm too happy to care.

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By the time the entire team got back to the lab – they'd been trickling in here and there over the past hour – it was late afternoon. Sorely lacking sleep, they all stood half-slumped on various counters and table in the layout room.

When Ecklie arrived and saw the state of the team, he said, "You look like hell, but I need you to push through." Pausing to listen to the groan from Sanders, he stifled his own yawn, and continued, "I've got a press conference in half an hour. Since it's not often we find multiple unexpected bodies in a graveyard, the media is having a field day."

The lab director looked directly at Grissom and said, "I expect you to be at the press conference."

Gladly throwing his co-worker under the bus, Grissom replied, "I won't be able to add much, as I didn't get into the case until towards the end. I think Catherine would be a much more appropriate choice on this case. If that's all, Conrad, we really must get back to this," and received a glare from the strawberry blond.

"I'll be right with you," Catherine said to Ecklie, then calmly walked past Grissom and said, "I _will_ get even with you."

"Of that, I have no doubt," he replied, casually picking up a piece of evidence.

Suddenly, several cell phones went off. Looking at the message, Nick, Greg, and Sara looked to Warrick and Grissom. "Doc Robbins wants to see us in the morgue – ASAP."

Deciding five sets of eyes were better than none, the entire team, minus Catherine, went down to autopsy.

Retrieving the first three bodies from their drawers, Robbins laid them side by side.

"I wanted to get confirmation from a couple other bodies before I said anything," Robbins began. "I haven't been through the last three bodies yet, but… I have a sneaking suspicion I'm going to find similar circumstances."

"What circumstances would those be?" Grissom asked.

"These three were killed by something straight, pointed, and made with what I would assume is unfinished wood," Robbins explained. Spreading the wound wide with gloved hands, he added, "You can see small splinters all the way into the heart."

"Hold it," Sara said, raising her hand and rubbing her eyes. "You're saying they were killed with a spike?"

"That's precisely what I'm saying," he concluded.

"So, let me see if I've got this right," Greg said. "Someone went all _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ on these guys?"

When Nick snickered, and Grissom looked like he was about to reprimand the young CSI, Robbins interrupted them all, "Exactly."

Once Catherine was brought up to date with the circumstances, Grissom realized no one was seeing the evidence anymore. Fatigue could do a lot to thought processes, and none of them particularly useful. He sent his team home, and prepared to head that way himself.

On the ride home, he'd thought about what Sara had said to him earlier in the day, and knew they still had a lot to discuss. His hope was that it would wait until later.

"We still need to talk, Gil," she softly said.

Seeing her closed eyes, he told her, "It can wait until tomorrow. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

When she frowned and very dully asked, "Excuse me?" he should have registered there was a problem. Turning from him, she laid her head against the window.

Walking into the bedroom, Sara stripped quickly, dropped her clothes into the hamper, and made her way into the bathroom. The shower felt great, but her mind flipped back to his statement in the car. Quickly drying, she grabbed her robe, roughly cinched it, and stormed into the bedroom to find Gil getting ready for a shower of his own.

"You're an ass," she accused, surprising him with her tone, and setting his defenses on alert.

"I'm an ass?" he asked, moving closer. "How did you come to that conclusion?"

"What if I don't want to wait until tomorrow to talk to you about this… this… _absurdity_ between us?" Sara stormed, and then seethed, "You could have actually asked me if I wanted to talk. Or you could have said you were tired. You didn't. Period. Gil Grissom knows what's right again – my input not necessary."

Spinning away from him, she grabbed her pillow and the comforter from the bed, and marched into the living room, slamming the bedroom door behind her.

Grimacing, Gil just realized what he'd done. _Wow. Screwed up fast on that one,_ he thought. Knowing she wouldn't talk to him until she calmed down, he made his way to the shower, cleaned off the worst of the day, and let the spray relax his aching neck and back.

By the time he made it out to the living room, determined to talk to his wife, he found her fast asleep, and felt a pang of guilt at the red rims of her eyes. Deciding not to wake her, and dreading having to apologize for the same thing twice in one day, he figured they'd talk as soon as they woke. However, when he woke up several hours later, his wife had already left, and a note lay on the kitchen counter.

_Went in early. Bring breakfast. Still mad. Love, Sara._

Sighing, Grissom threw on some clothes, and quickly made his way to the lab, stopping only to grab bagels and coffee. Walking in the layout room, he found Warrick, Nick, and Sara marking out the points of the graveyard, and reconciling them with Nick's pictures.

"I think Archie ought to be able to give us something from this," Sara murmured.

"Take a break," Grissom said from the doorway, focusing on Sara. While the men left the room, Grissom entered and shut the door. "I got your note," he said.

Looking away, she automatically replied, "I couldn't sleep," and stopped herself from adding to that false statement by picking up a pencil and adding notes to her log.

"We really need to talk," he said.

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A/N – Just thought I'd leave it there for the heck of it.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N – Here you go. Another chapter. I hope you enjoy. Please review. I like to hear feedback, which has been varied and totally cool so far. I like hearing everyone's thoughts, and some of them have actually influenced me a bit.

Disclaimer – Boise State University just lost the Hawaii Bowl. I'm too depressed to care about a disclaimer.

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When Sara looked up from her paperwork, he'd moved further into the room. Sighing, she laid down her pen and rubbed her eyes.

"Please, please, please, just stop dictating to me things that involve our personal relationship," she said. "It's one thing if you direct me when we're at work, because that's work. You are the graveyard supervisor. You have a lot more experience, and often more intuition than the rest of us. I expect you to tell us how to act, think, and sometimes react."

Standing just a foot from her, Grissom laid his forehead to hers, and whispered, "I'm sorry. Again. I didn't think about it. I just tend to want things in a certain way."

"I know," she grimly smiled at him, "but it's not just you and me we're talking about – it's about _us_. We're a team at home, and sometimes, you just decide on something…"

"It's been just me for a lot of years," he explained. "I've had to learn a lot to be with you."

"I can understand that, honey, because it's been you for so long, I've been on my own, too," she replied.

When his fingers stroked her cheek, she tilted her head up.

"I'll try. Just please do me a favor. Try not to get angry. Maybe you can let me know when I'm being an uncommunicative idiot," he said, capturing her lips with his for a sweet, quick kiss.

"The shades aren't drawn in here," she whispered. "I believe PDAs are forbidden by Ecklie."

"Yeah, well… we're the rule breakers, aren't we?" he chuckled.

"What I don't get is why this has started since people found out about us," Sara replied. "I guess I've been wondering if you need to… control me more to prove something."

"I don't think it has anything to do with people finding out with us," he quietly replied, backing away to walk around the evidence table. As he absent-mindedly looked at the grid for Archie, he added, "It's been since the desert. Natalie. Nearly losing you."

His gaze came up and caught hers, "I can't come that close to losing you again."

On a heavy breath, Sara chuckled, forcing a frown on him.

"Gilbert," she began to approach him, "I am the first to agree with you on that."

Snapping the blinds shut, she wrapped her arms around her husband and laid her cheek on his. "Baby, please put what happened in perspective. It wasn't the worst thing that ever happened to me. You know about me – my life. You've met my mother, and my wonderful step-father and step-sister."

Pulling back, she looked him in the eyes, and continued, "Please don't think you need to protect me from myself. I need us to be a team. I don't mind the help. At times, I really need it, but _ask_ before _doing_ when it comes to my personal welfare, or when it comes to _our_ welfare."

When she kissed him, Grissom wrapped his hand in her hair and deepened it until they both relaxed into one another, and Sara developed a sudden urge to clear off the layout table. Pulling back, she smiled into his neck, as his hand continued to stroke her curls.

"Are we okay?" he asked.

"We were okay before. You were just being an ass," she reminded him, and laughed at that lopsided grin she adored. Running his finger over her lips, he leaned in and whispered, "I'll try really hard to stop being that ass, okay?"

When her stomach suddenly rumbled, Grissom pulled back and kissed her palm before letting her go.

"I brought coffee and bagels," he said.

Meanwhile, in the break room, Brass and Catherine walked in to find Nick and Warrick sitting at the table, and Greg groggily making coffee.

"Where are Griss and Sara?" Brass asked.

"He and Sara are in the layout room," Nick supplied, to get the immediate reply from Catherine, "Is this a good thing or a bad things."

Making a show of leaning over and looking down the hall, Warrick said, "I haven't heard any major screaming. I don't see any blood."

"Ouch," Brass winced, "What happened?"

"I'm not sure, man… but I came in early, thinking to go through some of the photos – get the grunt work done. When I got here, Sara had been here for awhile, and already gotten quite a bit catalogued," Nick supplied.

"Huh. You should have seen the look on Grissom's face when he walked into the layout room awhile ago. I really didn't want to be in there," Warrick added.

Suddenly, the door in question opened, and the two of them came out, with Grissom heading to his office and Sara slowly aiming for the break room. She'd gotten halfway, when her husband came back with a bag and her coffee.

In the break room, Grissom dropped a sack of bagels and cream cheese onto the table and handed Sara the cup.

"Get me caught up," he said, looking at Nick and Greg to take the lead.

From the guilty looks of the crew, she had a strong feeling about what they'd been discussing. Frowning, she took a sip of coffee, and sighed quietly, "We're fine, all right?"

"Let's start at the top, guys. Walk it through," Grissom said.

"We have six bodies. If you look at Nick's chart, they're spread throughout the graveyard, but tend to be in areas with the larger, more ornate headstones. In one cases – I think it's the fifth one, it's near a large statue," Greg began.

Nick took over with, "I've marked out the names within four headstones each victim was found near. Furthermore, I've photographed the various headstones."

Greg looked over to Sara and said, "Please, God, tell me this V/R tool you're looking to develop will allow this process to occur a little faster. Spending that long at a crime scene just about killed me."

Smiling, she nodded, and said gleefully, "That's the idea. All of this would be rendered automatically. It would have taken only hours, regardless of how bright or dark it is outside."

"The scene is currently being held for another twenty four hours. We need to revisit it and make sure we aren't missing anything," Grissom interjected.

Glancing at Catherine, he winced at her glare. _Still pissed about the press conference,_ he determined, but asked anyway, "How did the media take what you passed along?"

"They're still in the dark on a lot of things. We didn't have a lot to go on at the time. And the next press conference is yours, Gil," she stated, her glare indicating that arguing would send him into the dog house.

"Besides the location, we know the victims were killed with a wooden stake-like object," Greg said, trying to keep the image of the vampire slayer out of his head, and failing miserably. Sighing, he added, "Doc will have more for us later. He hasn't gotten through all of the victims yet."

"There's a distinct splatter across the headstones. I'd like to try to recreate where each victim was standing, based on the directionality of it," Warrick interjected.

Catherine threw her ideas in saying, "I'd like to see if there have been any like crimes in other cities. I want to know if anyone has seen anything like this before."

"I want to go back and do a review of the scene when the sun comes up," Sara said, "and I really believe we should all go. Each of us take a body and make sure we got everything to find."

Now mumbling a little, she added, "I was still a little spooked yesterday. I trip of the guy's hand, and having a dead hand grab my foot just freaked me out."

"That's a sound idea," Grissom added, and continued, "Now walk me through the fibers found at the scene."

"I'll drop those off with Hodges," Sara said, "along with the hairs we found on victims two and five."

"I'll work on identification of the victims with Robbins," Catherine said.

Grissom stood and looked around the room. "Well… in the words of Greg's new hero, 'People to see, demons to kill'."

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A/N – One more chapter. The quote at the end is from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. More to come. Eventually. Review and it might arrive more quickly. LOL

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!


	15. Chapter 15

A/N – Thanks to Moo Marie for the honest response. It's appreciated. I hope this chapter at least starts to address the issue you brought up (although, I know it's slightly cheap to do it this way).

Another note: I didn't even have a chance to re-read this. People are arriving soon. :) MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Disclaimer – Kids are wrapping presents, so I don't have time for this.

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Hodges found Nick in Archie's lab several hours later. Having just gotten the scene mapped out, he was rotating the image to see a pattern. He was back to looking at the type of statuary. While there was no similar religious similarity, there was a distinct difference in terms of cost. Three of the four graves had extremely ornate sculptures.

"I want to look up family background information on all of those gravestones," Nick said. Looking at Archie, he asked, "Can you print out their information?"

"Not a problem," the A/V tech replied.

Hodges interrupted at this point, with "Nick, I've got some information on those black fibers you brought me."

Pulling out a report, he made a point of reading through the sheet of paper before stating the simplistic information, "It seems to be a cotton fiber. It's common enough that, while I am trying to tie it to a manufacturer, it seems unlikely I'll get a definitive hit."

"Gee, thanks, Hodges," Nick replied, trying not to be annoyed with the Trace tech.

"You're very welcome. I can tell you now that there is a distinct similarity in the samples you gave me. Of the four you gave me, three of them are the black fiber. The gray-looking fiber should be analyzed by the end of shift," Hodges replied, and quickly left, having dispensed his information.

Looking at his watch, Nick realized he still had two hours before the scheduled six o'clock team meeting, and headed back to his desk. He had research to accomplish.

Meanwhile, Warrick had set up a curtain in the lab, and proceeded to stab at a 'victim' in order to establish the stance of the victim. What he was coming up with was odd, but he wanted to make sure his blood spatter was repeatable for all six victims before saying anything. He had one major suspicion, though. The victims each knew the attacker.

Hodges found Greg in the break room. "The type of wood you're looking for is standard pine, Sanders," he said. "There was nothing unique or distinct about it."

Greg used pictures of the wounds, and the tracks of entry provided by Doc Robbins. He acquired a piece of wood, and proceeded to whittle it down until he had it the general shape. Reviewing the casts of the wounds, he noticed a distinct similarity between the victims wounds. Finally, he managed to get a similar weapon to what was used. It was, indeed, a stake.

Meanwhile, Sara had picked up the DNA results from Wendy. Besides verifying the splatter belonged to the victim, Doc Robbins had sent a sample from each victim's wound, on Grissom's request.

"Hey," she said, walking into Gil's office, with Wendy behind her. Standing back, she looked at Wendy and said, "You ought to deliver this. You're the one that found it."

"I think I know the order in which the victims died," she started. "The first victim is actually the last. The sixth victim is actually the first." Getting excited, she pulled out the various reports and laid them out. "The DNA in the first victim found is actually a mix. The last victim found had no other DNA in the mix. Since the first victim was found towards the center, so it almost looks like the perp moved from the edge of the graveyard towards the center."

"That's a great find, Wendy," Grissom said. "Thank you."

"I still have some DNA to run," she said, and quickly departed.

"Interesting," Sara said.

Looking up at the clock, Grissom sighed. Closing the door, Sara turned to him and smiled. "Do you have your prescription with you?"

"Yes, but it's not a migraine," he replied.

"Gil, I can see a headache behind your eyes," she retorted, softly. "Let me see if I can massage it away."

Irritation from the tension building in his neck, he snapped, "Stop it. If you don't want me making decisions for you, please stop obsessing over my headaches. I'm capable of asking if I need medication or help from you."

"Whoa," she replied, blowing out a breath, not expecting the show of temper. "Sorry."

"You accuse me of being controlling lately," he said, his headache forming a frown. "You obsess over my headaches, like I'm a two year old at times."

Wincing, she forced herself to be a bit honest and winced again. "Wow, I really _do_ take your headaches a little too seriously, don't I?"

Smiling slightly, he said, "I know you don't like to see me in pain, but… I believe you basically made me get in the car yesterday so you could massage my migraine away."

"Yes, but honey, you needed… oh. Wow." Sitting down, they looked at one another, and she murmured, "I guess I owe you an apology. I'll try to ask you before I force a massage on you." She grinned.

"Look, we still have an hour and I know you didn't get much sleep last night. If you want, my couch is available for a cat nap," he offered.

"That sounds great," she replied, already yawning.

An hour later, Sara felt her husband's fingers stroke down her jaw. The day that had started out so crappy didn't seem so bad.

Little did they know Catherine had found something in her search for like crimes that was going to throw another twist into the case.

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A/N – Happy holidays. I won't be posting until after Christmas. I hope you like it.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N – Okay, the kids are in bed. Santa visits in a couple of hours. So, I thought I'd give an update.

Disclaimer – Santa's coming. It'll let _him_ deal with the lawyers who want to sue little ol' me because I just wanna borrow the characters for a bit.

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Gathered in the layout room, Grissom said, "Okay, let's get an update on everything."

Wendy came rushing in, profusely apologizing, "I'm so sorry. I got caught in a test."

"We're just getting started," Grissom replied, "Since you have some very pertinent information, please go through the blood results you presented earlier."

It took several minutes to get through, but Wendy explained the order in which events must have happened. "So, as you can see, because what was labeled as victim number one had a wound containing not only _his_ blood, but the blood of the other five victims, I think it's safe to say he was the last. He was the true sixth victim. The perp must have used the same stake on all of them."

"Unfortunately, that didn't help me much with analyzing the victim placement. I tried to look at the different orders," Nick said. "However, there is no discernible 'pattern' as to where each victim was placed, although Wendy's information makes more sense. It sounds like the perp started at one point – namely the fence – and kept moving inward until the last victim was taken out."

Nick added, "I'm doing a background right now on the graves the victims were found near. From what I can discern, most were found near the more expensive sites, and I want to see if there's something that explains their location."

"Actually, I might be able to address something about that," Catherine interjected. "I've been doing some research and have found a disturbing pattern. After some searching, I came up with what can only be considered serial grave robbing. Multiple cities in multiple states have reported a similar MO for the crime. By the time the police figure out what's happening, it's done. No one has ever retrieved prints."

Pausing, Catherine caught each persons gaze, and said, "These incidents have been occurring for over two years."

"How's the blood splatter analysis going?" Grissom asked, turning to Warrick.

"I think I've established how the victims were standing… or rather how they weren't. They weren't bent or particularly low, like they were trying to squat away or run from an attack. It's as the victims were standing more casually," he said. "It brings up the question whether or not the victims knew the attacker."

Looking at Greg, Grissom asked, "Okay, what do you have?"

"I have this," Greg said, and laid his stake on the table. "I've carved down a simple piece of common pine to the same shape as the plaster casts of the wounds created by Robbins. It took awhile to get it to the right shape. I also asked Robbins to count up each splinter in the wound of each victim. I may well confirm Wendy's single weapon theory. The first victim will have more splinters than the last. Smaller and fewer splinters should be coming off the wood as it becomes more saturated with blood."

"Excellent," Grissom said.

Sara then took her turn, "I went through the scene notes we all took. We spent a great deal of time at the specific locations of the victims. I'm proposing that it's possible something was missed around those locations. If we know the order to the killings, then we need to be looking at the path the killer took."

Stopping, she looked around the room and smiled tightly, "Unfortunately, I think this means that we need to go through the entire cemetery beyond the locations – preferably in daylight hours."

When the groans came, Grissom said, "We only have the location until tonight, so we're going to need everyone we can get." Looking at the DNA tech, he said, "I've got day shift running DNA right now. Officially, your shift is over. If you'd like to join us on this needle-in-a-haystack search, feel free."

"I'd love to," Wendy replied, and was given a nod of approval by Greg.

"Before I forget," Nick yawned, "Hodges caught up to me to let me know the black threads you dropped off with him are plain cotton – not particularly traceable."

"Thanks, Nick," Sara murmured, and suddenly her eyes shot up and scanned the room's occupants.

"Okay, I have a question… first, since it's fairly well impossible to stake someone from behind, wouldn't the victim get hit with splatter? If so, one thing we need to look for a small drops of blood on the ground. Also, if you were covered in blood, what direction would you take out of the cemetery?"

"The darkest," Greg replied.

Sara said, "We need to find the darkest streets around here. If we know where the darkest surrounding streets are, perhaps we can find the exit our perp took."

"Good thinking," Catherine murmured, looking at the map.

"I may know how to find that out," Nick said. Pulling up some digital images from the night before, he added, "I took surrounding shots, and I should have some video, as well. Just give me a chance to take a look through these, and I'll let you know."

"No. Hand them off to Archie," Grissom replied. "I want everyone to take an hour. Meet up at the cemetery."

The rest of the team was waiting when Nick pulled up. Grabbing a folder, he walked up, said, "I've gone through the video and photo data," and laid out a map. Pointing toward the upper left corner, and tracing his finger along the northern edge a little ways, he added, "There are three street lights out along here. The rest of the surrounding streets were fairly well lit. Granted, there's not a lot of traffic, but it makes sense the most likely exit would be the darkest."

"Excellent. Greg and I will take the fencing along the north and north-west borders," Sara supplied.

Grissom looked around and added, "Wendy, go with Nick. Take the middle two victims. Catherine, Warrick – take the bodies on the east edge. I'm going to go over the locations of the two toward the center."

As Sara and Greg slowly walked along the fence – one inside and one outside – Sara snuck glances at Greg. When around the group, they acted like colleagues. However, even then there was an under-riding current between them. Greg acted friendly enough, but something was missing. He hadn't spoken to her since they walked away from the group, except to say "Okay" when she said she'd take the outer side of the fence.

"I really am sorry," she told him, as she examined a speck of something on the fence. Deciding it was dirt, she moved along.

"Sometimes sorry isn't enough, Sara," he bluntly replied, his face frozen in an expressionless mask. "You hurt all of us. You hurt Grissom. You hurt me."

"I know," she replied.

Stopping, Greg looked at his colleague and said, "I don't know how you can make it up to me. I don't know _if_ you can." Looking at the ground, he murmured, "I've trusted you with my greatest dreams. You were the first person I told about my book, because I felt a little embarrassed to even be saying the words. If that doesn't show you how much I trusted you, nothing does."

Before turning back to the task at hand, he added, "Right now all I know is that you're back, Grissom is back to where he needs to be, and I honestly don't think I even know you. I don't know if I ever have."

_Touche,_ Sara thought, feeling an ache in her gut.

In silence, they worked. On several occassions, one or the other stopped to inspect something. More often than not, it was a rust stain, until Greg stopped for a moment and knelt down, examining a spot a couple of feet from fence.

"Sara," he murmured, "I've got blood. Several significant drops."

Inspecting the area around the fence, she grinned, and replied, "I've got something on the fence, Greg." Picking up her camera, she started taking pictures. Pausing, she added, "I think we've found our killer's exit."

Picking up his cell phone, Greg dialed Grissom. Since they found the exit, maybe the team would be able to find other evidence along the path.

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A/N – Well, everyone, it's Christmas night (although this was written Christmas Eve night - nothing like having all the kids in bed, knowing 'Santa' isn't visiting for another few hours - woo hoo it's MOM time). I hope everyone is having a lovely holiday season.

Please, please, please Review. It's the little button down there. MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR.

Thanks for reading.

Margaret


	17. Chapter 17

A/N – Okay, another day, another chapter. I hope you enjoy. Please let me know what you think.

Disclaimer – If _I_ owned the characters, we'd be in a better place. Although… David Rambo is my hero.

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Around eleven o'clock that morning, they began heading back to the lab. Grissom sent everyone else home, and headed down to talk to see Doc Robbins.

"Hey, Gil," he said, "Graveyard really knows how to pick the more interesting cases."

Smiling grimly, he replied, "Indeed we do."

"Start at the start," Grissom said, as David assisted doc in pulling out the last of the six bodies.

"We have six males, between the ages of what I would guess to be late teens to late twenties. All Caucasian. No identification on any of them," Robins stated. "All of the victims have the same wound. I can tell you right now the force needed to kill each of these victims would have been significant."

"So it's either someone who is extremely strong, or a tool was used," Grissom murmured.

"That's not all," Robbins replied, and pulled up a piece of paper. "Please let Greg know that I found a similar number of splinters in each victim."

Eyebrows raised, Grissom said, "Greg's theory is that the more moisture and more use in the stake, since it seems the same stake was used, the less splinters should be showing up."

Pausing, he walked around the body, and smiled grimly, "However, if something was scraping the stake, more splinters were being roughed up and left behind in the victim."

"That would explain something, then," Robbins stated. "On the first victim, the stake provided a fairly uniform number of splinters around the wound. However, in later victims, the splinters became more concentrated in one area. One side of the wound would contain a higher number of splinters than the rest."

"Thank you, Al," Grissom absently said, as he headed out of the morgue.

By the time he made it home, it was nearly noon. Grissom had expected to find Sara in bed, but instead she sat on the couch, reading. Grissom sat down next to her. On the coffee table, the folder her mother had given her lay open.

"Is that the trial transcript?" he quietly asked.

"Yeah," she replied. "I… wasn't present for the trial. I wasn't allowed."

"Did you have to testify?"

"For a couple hours for one day – I just gone done reading that part," she told him. "In the end she went to jail and I ended up in the system."

"Are you all right?" he quietly asked.

"I don't know," she whispered.

"It's late for us," he remarked, looking at the light shining in from the window. "Are you ready to head to bed?"

Fatigue rushing across her face, she nodded, and let him lead her to sleep and right into a nightmare. Jerking awake, she trembled, waking him.

"Same nightmare?" he groggily asked.

"No. Vampires. Stakes. Damn bloodsuckers were everywhere, chasing me through the cemetery," she muttered, looking more peeved than upset.

As she lay back down and curled next to Gil, Sara murmured, "I really don't like cemeteries. Not since I watched them drop my dad in the ground," before falling back asleep.

When Grissom woke with the alarm, it was to find Sara sitting in the living room, closing the folder.

"Finished?" he asked.

"Just now," she replied, and exhaled slowly. "I wish…" and she left off, shaking her head.

"Honey, o you need the night off?"

"No. Work will help me keep my mind off of it for awhile," Sara told him. "If you're up for it, I thought I might grab something to eat on my way in tonight."

"Sounds great. Give me twenty minutes to grab a shower," he told her.

By the time they made it into the lab, everyone else had already assembled in the layout room. Looking at the slip in his hand, he peered at his crew and handed out the orders, "First, let me tell you about my meeting with Robbins. He checked the bodies for any kind of defensive wounds, and found none. However, he said the force needed to actually run a stake directly into the heart is extremely significant."

Grissom then explained the splinters found in the wound. Looking at Greg, he added, "Something is scraping free more splinters, and whatever it is, it's one sided."

"So something like a crossbow," Greg replied.

"If someone retrofitted a crossbow to handle a stake of that size, then the attacker may not have been anywhere nearby," Warrick murmured. "That would explain the splatter pattern I was seeing – and also blow out of the water the theory that the victims knew their attacker."

Grissom continued, "Catherine – when you get the reports from the cities hit by the serial grave robbers, give them to Nick. Nick – Keep doing the background work on the graves where the bodies were found. Find out if there are any connections between the graves that have been robbed, and the graves where you found the victims."

"We don't have a lot in the way of assignments tonight. Warrick, Greg – there's a B&E with your name on it. Sara – you need to start familiarizing yourself with the DNA lab and a typical day Wendy goes through, so work with her tonight. If anyone needs me, I'm going to be in my office."

Looking at his team, Grissom concluded with, "I want to review the case an hour before end of shift."

As Grissom headed off to his office to review paperwork, Sara made her way to the DNA lab. She watched from the hall as Hodges smirked at Wendy and the DNA tech rolled her eyes in response. Stifling a laugh, Sara wondered, _Does he even realize he's flirting with her_, and entered the lab.

"Today, I'm yours," Sara announced.

"Okay. We're done," Wendy laughed in response. At Sara's blank look, she said, "We either get massive amounts of work to do all at once – and you CSIs want it _instantly_, or we're slow. Right now, we're slow."

"Oh," Sara replied. "What do you do when you're slow?"

"It depends. Lately, it's been about playing Hodges' game," Wendy told her.

Her head tilted in thought, she looked at Hodges and Wendy, and curiously asked, "Can anyone play?"

Smiling, Hodges stood up a bit straighter, and said, "I'll go get it."

When Hodges arrived in the break room carrying the game box, he pulled out all the pieces and said, "Now. Let me read you the purpose of the game." Flipping the box, he read off the bottom…

Grissom found them there an hour later. He hadn't seen Sara just _laugh_ like that in ages. Hodges's face was slightly pink, whether from embarrassment or anger, Grissom had no idea.

"Gil," Sara said, noticing him in the doorway. "I'm being introduced to the game you told me about."

"Four clues," Hodges muttered. "She figured it out in four clues."

"Don't worry about it. You happened to pick one of the sharpest minds around for your thought process game," Grissom supplied.

Standing, Sara looked at the occupants of the room and said, "I'm going to check out my lab." Heading down the hall, she could hear several people following. When she swung the door open, she stood there in awe. The lab may not have been scheduled to be ready for awhile yet, but the space had been cleared.

The wall between the two storage areas had been removed. Each storage area had been large to begin with, but together made up an enormous area eighteen feet in width and at least forty feet in length.

Walking into the room, she could actually _see_ her space.

"Right here, just inside the door, I want my desk. I need a table right behind me and next to me, though. I'll need to be able to lay equipment within immediate reach of my computer," she said, making verbal notes to herself.

In the other section, she murmured absently, "Right here, I need to set up a work station for testing, and another for design." Then pointing to one bare wall, she stated, "I need to setup a video conferencing area, so I'll need a screen with LCD projector and a table over here. I'll need to have the video equipment brought in."

Closing her eyes, she could visualize the electronics equipment she had already ordered for delivery. It would be arriving in about a week. Walking back to the door, she looked at her husband. "There will only be a handful of people with access to this lab. You, Ecklie, Catherine, Warrick, Greg, Nick, and Wendy – basically the team. I'm also going to give it to Archie. Because of security protocols maintained to deter from corporate espionage, a key code will be required for entry."

At Archie's surprised look, Sara smiled and added, "You're an A/V expert. I'll tell you more later, but I figure you'll be interested in what I'm working on."

No more said, everyone made it back to their stations just in time for Sara to receive her first DNA request of the night. Greg and Warrick had processed their scene quickly. Eventually, Sara and Wendy made it back to the break room with Hodges. Shift was not even half over.

By the time the graveyard's CSI crew assembled to review the graveyard case, Hodges had stormed off, leaving Wendy and Sara in fits of laughter.

The review of the case was simple enough – Nick drawled, "I'm neck deep in information, and I imagine I will be at it for awhile yet. It's liable to take weeks for me to review everything."

Catherine, on the other hand, had received faxes of all of the requested case files from surrounding areas, and handed them on to the Texan. "It's up to you, Nick."

At the look on her friends face, Sara stepped forward and said, "When it's slow in the lab, how about I give you a hand. Had I known earlier, I would've helped out then, too."

Nodding eagerly, Nick handed Sara a stack of papers originating from Catherine, and said, "Go for it."

Flipping randomly through the case information, Sara's head shot up, a stunned look on her face. "I'm seeing Seattle, Portland, Salt Lake City, Fresno, San Jose, and more..."

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A/N – Hello? This is your conscience speaking. You need to hit the review button. It's the right thing to do.


	18. Chapter 18

A/N – Another day, another chapter. I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer – Time flies. You don't necessarily have to be having fun, but it helps. To the owners of CSI, please don't sue me, and bring back the excellent writers.

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Several days later, Sara sat at her computer, going through the reports Nick had given her, and coming up with nothing. Seeking something to prop her eyes open, she made her way to the break room to smell the blessed gift Greg would often leave. Pouring a cup, she sat on the couch, and tilted her head back.

Thoughts swirled through her head, regarding the cemetery, the robberies, Grissom, Greg, her team, DNA work, her dream project, her future… all of it became a vortex, and her eyes drifted closed.

"Wow. Asleep, and she still doesn't drop the coffee," Nick said to Greg as they entered the break room. With things slow, all three of them had been working on researching the reports, and were running into the same thing – they were coming up with nothing connecting the robberies to the victims.

Coming out of her daze, she mumbled, "Thanks for the manna," and raised her cup in a toast to Greg, her eyes remaining closed.

"Your eyes are bleeding, too?" Nick asked.

Sitting up, she took a sip, and contemplated what she'd found, "So far, I've found the biggest pattern being how the robbers hit the various graves – they didn't seem to have a great deal of background information on the ones they hit. It seems they just broke into the ones that _looked_ the wealthiest, based on the type of headstone or statuary. They came up fairly empty on a few of them."

"That's about what I've got, as well," Greg supplied, pouring himself a cup and sitting at the table.

"However, that _does_ fit the general locations where we found our victims," Nick mused. "I'm starting to wonder if maybe our vics _are_ the robbers."

"Who would want them dead?" Sara asked aloud, mulling over the possibilities.

On a harsh laugh, Greg said, "Gee… anyone family member of any robbed grave, I'm sure. They'd be at the top of my list."

"That gives us dozens and dozens of possibilities," Nick replied wearily, "and without identification, there's no way of knowing where this group comes from."

"True," Grissom replied from the doorway. "However, all of them are interesting possibilities. So, why don't we have a little bit of a brain storming session. _If_ these six victims are the robbers, who would want them dead."

Half an hour later, they'd come up with a very short list of possible motives: Vengeance and competition. Both could be powerful drivers.

"Grissom," he answered, when his cell phone rang. As the others listened, their supervisor went into action-mode. Hanging up, he looked at Nick and Greg, "We've got a 419. Brass is on scene." Writing down the address, he handed it to the two men, who immediately headed out.

Two days later, Sara found herself inundated with DNA samples to process, while Wendy was taking her firearms proficiency exam. As samples flew in, Sara processed. Between the backlog from Days and Swing shifts and the graveyard crew's requests, she barely had time to sit for two minutes. It wasn't until nearly four in the morning that she felt caught up enough to focus in on the research.

While Nick chose to center on the motive of competition, she decided to look into vengeance. Most of the robbery victims had been older and wealthy, although not all of them. Nearly all of them came from typical families. However, on of the gravesites was that of a mafia leader. That family moved to the top of her list. Two other families had made threatening comments about what they would do if the police ever found out who had done the crime. Other than that, the remaining families appeared normal on paper.

Standing up, Sara began to stretch her muscles, working the aches and pains from her joints, until the cramps in her shoulders and back had released. Muttering darkly to herself, she closed up her notes and went in search of Grissom.

"I can't find anything," she said, dejected, and relayed the few potential suspects. "I've sent messages to the appropriate police departments, but I don't know when I'll hear from them."

"That's fine, because you have a delivery," Grissom said, smiling.

Looking at the clock, Sara was surprised to see it was nearly eight o'clock. Smiling, she said, "It must be the computer systems. I've been waiting for them to get here."

As she headed rapidly towards the lobby, he called out, "Try the delivery dock," and laughed when she spun on her heels and passed him again.

When he followed her down, at a more sedate pace, he shook his head on a chuckle, "Okay… drooling does not become you, honey."

"Shhh," she replied, and laid her ears next to a box, "it's speaking to me."

As the delivery men laughed and picked up the equipment, she showed them where to roll the boxes after boxes on the dolly, and in quick order had it all stacked up in her lab.

"You might as well open them," he said, smiling from the doorway. "Want some help?"

Within forty five minutes, they had everything out of its box, and laid out on various desks and workbenches. As Grissom gathered together the paperwork in each box, Sara began hooking up what she identified as her personal work station. She vaguely heard her husband say something about going back to his desk and checking in on Nick and Greg, but it didn't really register until she pulled herself out from under a workbench to find quite a few pairs of legs at eye level.

"We're heading out to Frank's for a bite. Care to come with us?" Nick asked, grinning down at her. Meanwhile, Greg and Warrick walked through the research lab, eyeing the equipment.

"The rest of it should be arriving anytime now," she replied, looking giddy in a way none of her co-workers had ever seen before. Closing up her office, she set the security system, and they were off.

Once settled in a booth, Catherine smiled and asked, "So, how is life in the DNA lab."

"I never knew how hectic it could get," Sara admitted. "It gives me more respect for what the techs have been providing for us."

When Greg snorted and replied, "I could've told you that."

"Yeah, well… thanks belatedly for your work," Sara murmured.

"So, what have you guys found in your research?" Warrick asked.

Looking to Nick to take the lead, he said, "I'm researching the motive of competition, and assuming the six victims are the grave robbers. Given that, I haven't been able to find any indication that someone else would want to take out these guys. With the information I have available, I can't see taking out the competition as being a strong motivating factor."

Taking up the explanation, Sara said, "I've really only come up with a few families that made any indication they might seek justice." Once she finished explaining her findings about the mob boss and the two other families, she took a sip of her coffee.

"Right now, I'm stuck, but I plan on continuing the research," Nick sighed.

"I'll help when I can," Greg interjected, and Sara nodded, "So will I."

Sara had just excused herself when Grissom's cell rang.

Recognizing the caller ID, he quietly answered, "Hey there," with a grin. Everyone at the table looked at each other. Listening intently, he smiled again, and made a note on a napkin, which he promptly thrust into his pocket. Seeing Sara come towards him, he quickly said, "I have to go. I'll call you back later," and hung up.

Standing, he kissed Sara's cheek, and murmured, "Ready to head home?"

When she smiled in response and nodded, he helped her into her jacket, paying their bill on the way out the door.

As Grissom escorted his wife out the door, his hand laying gently on her lower back, Greg turned to the rest of the group and asked, "Who and what was that?"

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A/N – Okay… here's the deal. I would really appreciate a review. Thank you so much for your time and consideration. It was an honor to be nominated.


	19. Chapter 19

A/N – Things get stranger and stranger. Please review and let me know what you think. Also, to angsty – I like hearing other people's thoughts. I threw out the whole vampire thing early on, when I realized that I didn't want to even attempt to take this into the supernatural, and the vampire/cult thing has been way overdone. However, I can always appreciate a suggestion.

Disclaimer – I bow down to the writers of the CSI… the true owners of the characters.

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"I found something," Nick said without preamble, as he ran into Grissom's office. "I found something," he repeated, this time with a grin. "Check this out."

Laying out three files in front of Grissom, who sat at his desk, watching the young Texan take over his work space, Nick flipped until three specific pages lay out. Pulling out a yellow highlighter, he marked off specific information on each, and waited for his supervisor to finish reading.

When Grissom looked up, he said, "Well… you seem to have found a connection. Pull the team together – at least those not out on cases. Let's go over this."

Once Warrick, Sara, Wendy, and Nick were assembled in Grissom's office, Nick waited for his boss's nod, and began, "Since I couldn't find anything on a robbery victim's family member going after revenge, I started doing some fairly random searches. And when I say random, I mean random. The same night as a grave robbing occurred outside of Phoenix, a young man was found dead within just a mile of that particular graveyard."

Handing around the papers he'd brought, "The victim is listed as John Doe, but the method of death is a fatal wound to the heart with something about the same general size and shape of an ice pick." Looking around the room, he excitedly asked, "Sound familiar?"

"So lay out your theory," Grissom told him.

"It comes back to the motive of vengeance. My current theory is that someone knew the John Doe. He's important to somebody, and they believe, or maybe even have proof, that these six grave robbers murdered him. I think whoever did this gained their revenge," Nick said. Pausing for a moment, he considered the case, and added, "However, it's important to keep in mind that I'm making the assumption that our six victims are the serial grave robbers."

"This is great," Sara murmured, and gave her friend a smile, "but I have another theory to throw into thought." When everyone looked at her, she gave her notion a moment of thoughtful contemplation, and added, "What if this John Does in Phoenix is another grave robber – one of the crew. The motive may still apply that someone is out for revenge, but… it's something to consider."

Wendy threw in her thoughts with, "Either way, it's necessary to identify the guy in Arizona."

"How busy are we in DNA tonight?" Grissom asked. When Sara grimaced, he looked at Wendy and said, "I realize you've passed your exams, and are ready to hit the field effectively tonight, but I'd appreciate it if you could handle the DNA lab one more night."

Turning to Sara and Greg, he said, "I want the two of you digging into the John Doe in Phoenix. Nick, I want you to go to the other grave robbing sites and see if there are other John Doe's that died in this manner, close to one of these sites."

As they made their way towards her desk, Sara asked, "How are you doing? You looked really tired the other day."

"I'm fine," he replied. Opening his mouth to say more, he closed it again, and sat down in the chair next to her.

They worked politely together until the end of shift, sending the detective on the case in Phoenix a request for more information, and asking for the results of the DNA identification of the body there.

Eventually, Greg took up the terminal next to Sara's and worked on researching missing persons. It seemed imperative that they find out who the Phoenix victim was. Greg's gut told him the key to the whole case lay with that particular vic.

Looking at the clock, Greg said, "Shift ended awhile ago, and there's not much we can do right now. We just went through a few hundred Missing Persons reports around the western United States. We still have thousands to go that fit the general description of the John Doe. I say we call it a night, and we go through the rest next shift."

"Wait," Sara murmured, then more forcefully, "Just wait."

When Greg looked at her, and acted like he was about to stand anyway, she laid her hand on his arm. "Please stay here," she murmured, rose, and left the room.

He wasn't sure _why_ he waited, and debated with himself as to whether or not he should leave, when she returned, carrying a folder.

"I'd appreciate it if you took this home with you," she said, laying the file in front of him. As she left the room, she stopped, not turning back, "Burn it or shred it when you're done. I don't ever want to see it again."

For several minutes, Greg sat in place, a thousand thoughts running through his mind. Overcome with curiosity, he flipped it open to find a particularly gruesome picture of a man lying in a pool of blood. Picking up the photo, he saw the trial transcript, and his eyes widened in shock at the name of the defendant. Sidle.

Numbly standing, he gripped the folder, stopped by the locker room to grab his jacket, and headed home.

Sitting on the couch, Greg opened the folder and examined the picture once again, this time putting it in context. Noting the date, he realized Sara wouldn't have even been a teenager. When he reached what was her part of the testimony, he had to stop. While her name was never mentioned, as she was listed as Minor Witness, it was obvious who was on the stand and answering questions.

_**Defense Attorney:**__ Could you tell us your name?_

_**Minor Witness:**__ **-name blacked out-**_

_**Defense Attorney:**__ I know this is going to be hard, but I need to ask you some questions._

_**Minor Witness:**__ How do you know it's going to be hard? Have you had to do this?_

_**Defense Attorney:**__ You're right. I don't know how hard testifying is. Could you tell me your age, please?_

_**Minor Witness:**__ Twelve._

_**Defense Attorney:**__ Thank you. Now I need to ask you the really hard questions, okay?_

_**Minor Witness: **__Okay._

_**Defense Attorney: **__Did you ever witness your parents fighting?_

_**Minor Witness:**__ Yes._

_**Defense Attorney:**__ Did your father ever strike your mother?_

_**Minor Witness:**__ Yes._

_**Defense Attorney:**__ How often?_

_**Minor Witness:**__ I don't understand._

_**Defense Attorney:**__ Let me rephrase. Did your father hit your mother more than twice a week in the last six months?_

_**Minor Witness:**__ Yes._

_**Defense Attorney:**__ More than five times a week?_

_**Minor Witness:**__ Yes._

_**Defense Attorney:**__ Did your father hit your mother nearly every day in the last six months?_

_**Minor Witness:**__ I think so._

_**Defense Attorney:**__ Did your father hit you?_

_**Minor Witness:**__ Yes._

_**Defense Attorney:**__ Your honor, I would like to present to the courts the medical records of **-name blacked out-**._

_**Defense Attorney: **__Now **-name blacked out-** , do you remember your arm getting broken?_

_**Minor Witness:**__ Yes._

_**Defense Attorney:**__ Can you tell us how it was broken?_

_**Minor Witness:**__ Your honor, do I have to?_

_**Judge:**__ Yes, honey, you do. Just tell the truth._

_**Minor Witness:**__ I lost my jacket one day or I forgot it somewhere. I don't remember which. Dad grabbed my arm and pulled me into the kitchen. He kind of twisted it, and then I heard it snap._

_**Defense Attorney: -**__**name blacked out-** , How old were you?_

_**Minor Witness: **__Six._

_**Defense Attorney:**__ Your honor, the medical records of this child show she had five broken bones between the ages of six and eleven._

He had to stop reading. Flipping through the pages, Sara's testimony went on and on. Making his way to the kitchen, Greg poured himself a shot of vodka. He downed it quickly and leaned heavy on the kitchen counter. Making his way back to the couch, he forced himself to finish reading.

Knowing that she usually rode in with Grissom, and he nearly always arrived early, Greg made his way into the lab a couple hours before shift start. He found his way to Grissom's office, and stuck his head inside.

"Have you seen Sara?" he asked, eyeing his boss.

Sitting back, Grissom replied, "She's in her lab. I believe you have the code." As Greg nodded then turned away, Grissom had no intention to say anything, but, "Please take it easy on her," came out of his mouth, with a frown. When the young man looked back, he quietly added, "You have no idea how difficult that was for her."

Nodding once, Greg made his way down to Sara's lab and punched in the code.

When it opened, Greg's ears were assaulted by loud music. Looking around, he saw Sara sitting in a stool on the other end of the room next to what she described as the test station. Not wanting to scare her, he started yelling across the room, until her head came up from the monitor, and she looked around. Reaching over, she clicked a mouse button, and the room fell silent.

Walking over, he stopped and looked at what he figured must be tens of thousands of dollars of top of the line computer equipment. Keeping her eyes focused on the computer screen in front of her, she finished one task and started another.

"I can't even pretend to understand," he murmured.

She finally turned towards him and for the first time, he saw the red rimmed eyes.

"I read your testimony, and the testimony of others," he said. "Sounds like you had a crappy time of it." Pausing, he softly added, "I read the notes you wrote at the end – about the part that wasn't in the trial."

"I can't control how other people feel," she abruptly stated, "I don't expect you to feel different than you did yesterday."

When Greg started to interrupt, she raised a hand, and insisted, "Please let me say this," and said, "I can't regret leaving. All I can regret is the way I left. I know that hurt you, and I don't expect you to stop being angry, just because you know."

Standing, she picked through some cables, until she found the one she was looking for, and turned back around to look Greg in the eyes. "You trusted me with your dream, and I will always be thrilled and honored that I was the first to know. You see my dream surrounding you. Now you know my biggest nightmare."

Nodding once, Greg walked over and looked at a couple of cables on the workbench. He asked, "Did you find what you needed?"

"Mostly," she replied. "I answered the most important question."

"What was that?" he asked, curious.

Pausing, she thought about the best way to phrase it, and replied, "I needed to know where I _really_ belong." Smiling softly, she added, "It turns out, every road leads here. This is home."

Picking up a couple cables himself, he said, "Tell me where to plug these in."

For nearly an hour they worked side-by-side. As they finished the last of the computer systems, Greg plopped down into one of the really comfortable office chairs Sara had ordered for her lab.

"You know, reading the transcript… it's a lot for me to take in," he said.

Sadly smiling, she replied, "It's a lot for me to take in, too, and I lived it."

"I'm worried you'll take off again," he quietly murmured.

Looking at him, she simply stated, "I can't offer you a guarantee. It hit me so hard that I had to lay to rest what has always haunted me. I couldn't do anything _but_ leave."

Pausing, she sat across from him, and said "I know we can't go back to the same relationship. I can't be your mentor anymore. I broke something there. Besides, you've moved beyond it – you don't need a mentor." Silence ensued as both lost themselves in thought, until she asked, "Can I try to get my friend back? I miss him."

"Yeah, I'd like that," he replied, soberly.

When the door opened, Grissom looked at Greg, and asked, "Can I have a minute, please?"

Closing the door after the young CSI, Grissom wrapped his arms around Sara's waist and asked, "Are you all right?"

"I'm working on it," she replied, her eyes misting. "I screwed things up pretty royally. Not just with him." Her mind turned to Nick and Catherine.

"You'll get there," he whispered, holding her close.

Together they made their way to the break room. Graveyard shift was starting, and Sara began official duties as DNA tech, part time CSI, and R&D researcher.

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A/N – Once upon a time, there was a little story. The little story liked to know it made people happy. Please let the little story find happiness. Click the review button.


	20. Chapter 20

A/N – I hadn't planned on posting this until tomorrow, but what the heck… enjoy.

Disclaimer – If I have to watch another rerun of Jay Leno, it won't matter who owns CSI. I'll be one of the victims. Death by boredom.

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Sara sat at her desk in the DNA lab, waiting for a semen sample from Catherine to process, and reading the report from the Phoenix detective regarding the John Doe they found there. The report provided quite a bit of information, although nothing that would identify their victim.

On the body, several long brown strands of hair had been found – enough to provide a DNA marker. When compared to the victim, there were enough alleles in common with the victim to indicate a relative. The fact that they were XX, showed female.

Putting the report aside, Sara looked up in time to see results load into her computer, hit print, and paged Catherine.

Looking at the clock, she noted the time. It was a slow night, and while the information from the report was interesting, Sara found herself getting restless, yet tired.

Placing the police report on the desk, she headed to the break room for coffee, and promptly ran into Catherine.

"I've got the results you were looking for. Come with me," she said, after pouring herself a cup, and walking the corridor with her colleague.

"How is life in DNA land?" Catherine asked.

"Occasionally insane. Occasionally boring," came the dry reply. "Never anything in between. I'll be happy when my inventory arrives, but in the meanwhile I'm working on some schematics."

Once inside, Sara pulled a printout from the stack and handed it to Catherine, "There was enough of a sample to get a good set of DNA markers. If you find a suspect, I'll be able to test for a match."

Looking at her watch, Catherine said, "Thanks."

While Catherine turned away toward her office, Sara headed back to her missing persons cases, and the identification of John Doe.

They'd started searching missing persons out of Phoenix, and then expanded to all of Arizona, and Greg and Sara had not been able to identify their corpse. She'd been slowly expanding the search, but considering the victim could have come from anywhere… Sara had just about given up.

Deciding they had a good foundational theory of _what_ had happened, Sara was about to shut it all down, hand the report back to Grissom, and tell him it was impossible. That's why her eyes widened and she became fully alert when she saw the description of a young man missing out of Laughlin, Nevada. The description was dead on – right down to the two moles on his arm.

Grinning, she printed out the missing persons report, and made a call. Within an hour, the case file of the missing young man had been faxed over.

Pulling out her cell phone, she sent a text to the graveyard team: IDd Phnx Vic.

By the time shift ended, Grissom had ordered everyone to a layout room for a briefing. Extending his arm, he indicated, then said, "Go ahead."

"Our guy killed in Phoenix is twenty four year old Jesse Carling. His parents died in a car accident outside the metro Phoenix area two years ago. He and his younger sister, Emily, moved to Laughlin for his work," Sara said.

"When Jesse was reported missing, Emily requested and was granted emancipation at the age of sixteen," Sara explained. "According to the documentation, she reported her brother missing about a week after he died."

"Was her brother prone to taking off?" Wendy asked. Looking around, she explained, "I'm wondering why she took so long file a report."

"It's doubtful he just took off," Sara said, shaking her head a bit. "Social services had a case file open because no one was specified in the parents' wills. They would have checked in on him for awhile, considering Emily was fifteen at the time of her parents' deaths." Looking around the room, she expanded, "Even kids in a familial placement can become part of the child welfare system."

Her face forming into a scowl, Sara began flipping through pages, until she found the one she was looking for, and murmured, "His date of death corresponds to the day his parents died – it was the first anniversary."

"Do they have any other relatives?" Nick asked.

"No," Sara responded. "According to the documentation I've received, it was just the two of them."

"So, the hairs found on the victim… they most likely belong to the sister," Catherine mused.

"Precisely," Sara replied. "So, what I'm wondering is why she fled the scene, and why she didn't report him missing." Stopping on a frown, she added, "I'd say it's possible the hairs ended up on him from earlier in the day, but they were on the collar of his shirt. That tells me he was embracing her in some way."

Walking over to Grissom, she leaned into him and laid her head on his shoulder. She hadn't intended to actually _take_ comfort from him, but found herself finding it anyway. Her head faced away from his neck, she ordered, "Comfort me."

When he started stroking the top of her head, no hairs were falling out, so she yanked on one and left it in its original place. It landed on his shirt, getting caught near the bottom of his collar. Grinning he gently put her away. Pointing to the hair, he smiled, "Point taken, but isn't this farther down on the shirt than expected?"

"Yes," she replied, "but we're about the same height."

Glancing back at the report, she said, "The victim is six-five."

Looking around the room, she said, "Hold on," and paged Mandy, with _G's office. ASAP._

When the fingerprint analyst arrived, she got pulled into a hug by Nick. The shorter hair, and difference in height ended up producing several hairs falling right into place on the collar.

"She was there… the day he died, she was there," Sara said, then murmured, "I can feel it."

Of course, that statement got a raised eyebrow from Grissom, while Nick nodded along with Sara. Before Grissom could respond, Sara muttered, "I know, I know… we follow the evidence, not our gut. The evidence is pointing to his sister being on scene when he died."

Looking around the room, Grissom smiled at Nick and Greg, and informed them, "You two are going to take a drive."

Both men smiled, and everyone groaned when Greg said, "Viva Laughlin."

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A/N – If a dollar falls in a slot machine but nobody is around to hear it, does it really exist or is it like Monopoly money?


	21. Chapter 21

A/N – Okay, just so everyone knows… I make up most of this as I'm actually writing. I discovered long ago that if I go into a story with the plot developed, I screw it up, and it's boring. So, I give myself a vague idea and see what happens. I've changed the whole story about twenty times in my head. I hope you like how the case actually ends.

To Moo Marie – Let me know if it's a worthwhile resolution.

Disclaimer – I may not own the characters, but they're family to me. Don't mess with my family.

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While Greg and Nick headed south for their nearly two hour drive with Brass to Laughlin, Sara and Grissom headed home. They'd been pulling long shifts, particularly during the last couple of weeks, their routine was to pick up Hank, take him for a quick walk, and fall into bed and sleep.

They decided to opt for skipping the walk, as they were home at a reasonable hour for a change. After his shower, Grissom found Sara standing at the toaster, daring it to burn the toast. When it popped up, golden brown, she happily grabbed a pad of paper she had hidden away in a drawer and placed a check mark.

Quietly he stepped behind her, and grabbed the list from her hand, and laughed.

"Recipes I will conquer?" he asked, then started reading off items, "Toast, Omelet, Stir-fry Vegetables, Baked Potatoes, Veggie Casserole, …" and the list went on.

"I've decided to learn to cook," she stated, her chin jutted up in defiance.

She'd expected him to laugh, but when he smiled and said, "You've got toast marked off," she hugged him.

Putting the list and pen on the counter, he wrapped his arms around his wife and murmured, "You can pretty much do whatever you set your mind too, dear."

"I'm setting my mind to that little scenario in your office," and she laid her head on his shoulder. Closing her eyes, his hand stroked her hair a few times, until she murmured, "I really wanted to do this."

Turning her head, she whispered her lips across his neck and felt him shiver. As his hand delved into the strands and he tilted his head away for more access, he groaned in anticipation. For long moments, she sucked and licked, reveling at the short, harsh breaths she heard coming from him. With a hand on his chest, she felt the thundering heart beat, but couldn't tell if it was hers or his.

When his hand suddenly clenched in her hair, and pulled her head back, she waited for the onslaught – for her mouth to be plundered. Her own breath coming out in short gasps; she waited, and felt his mouth on first one cheek, then another. Leaving trails of kisses like the wisps of butterfly wings against her skin, she moaned.

Then he plundered. Releasing her from his grasp, he began to tug and pull, growling at the cloth between them. Guiding her to the living room, they dropped garments in their wake, until he laid her out in front of him on the couch, and murmured, "You truly are beauty."

"God, I love you," she whispered in return, as he covered her, their legs entangling. Together, they drove one another on breathy whispers and aching pleas until they met together and sank into infinity.

Hours later, they woke to the ringing of his cell phone and grunted.

They were going from bliss into the bizarre. They just didn't know it yet.

Quickly dressed and grinning, they made it to the crime lab several hours before shift to find Jim Brass sitting in front of Grissom's desk, with Nick and Greg half asleep on the couch.

Without hesitation, Brass said, "Emily Carling is being transported here, and booked on murder charges. If she survives the death penalty, Phoenix is going to want a shot at her."

"Okay," Grissom said, sitting behind his desk and looking at the two CSIs at each end of the couch, with Sara now ensconced between them. "Tell me what you found."

"Oh, man. It was just strange," Nick began, standing up and stretching. As he moved around, he gave his account, "It all started with a car accident… and how she setup her father to die. Killing her mother at the same time was an added bonus." Shivering at the thought, he added, "This girl is a sociopathic whack job."

Looking over to Greg, Nick said, "Man… you tell the rest," and promptly sat down next to Sara.

As Greg stood, Sara realized she'd never seen these guys so pale before.

"So, she takes out her parents, because they have the stuff, like the TV and computer and house. Man, she takes them out because she thinks, 'Wouldn't it be nice to have all this, too?' But she _does _have the stuff. Except, her parents ground her from the computer for getting onto questionable websites," Greg explains.

"Then she and her brother are at the cemetery on the anniversary of their deaths, and she thinks to herself, 'If I get rid of Jesse, I can have his stuff, too.' So she waits until they're standing over their parents' graves, and she's planning on burying him there. She figures no one will find him. She'll just wait a couple of weeks, and report him missing. When he turned for a moment, she slams the ice pick into his chest with one hand and hammers it in with a rock in the other." Looking at Brass to take up the next part of it, Greg sits.

"It gets better and better. I'm not sure I've ever seen anything like this. Keep in mind – she was fifteen when she took out her parents. She was sixteen when she took out her brother," Brass said. "She'd actually pulled out the shovel to dig his grave when she heard these guys enter the cemetery. She figured they'd spotted her, so on an adrenaline rush, she quickly hoisted her brother ten feet to the lane and loaded him into the bed of his own truck."

Sitting back, Brass looked directly at Grissom and said, "She rolled the body onto the road out in BFE and left him there. Then she went to tracking down the six men she'd seen entering the graveyard. The thing is they may have never seen her at all."

"You should have heard her voice," Nick whispered. "She started this little sing-song voice like a little girl that reminded me of Natalie Davis." He then winced and looked at the woman sitting next to him.

Laying her hand on his knee, Sara gravely smiled and murmured, "Don't worry about it."

"You should see the house, Griss," Greg whispered. "She's got the living room painted in this little girl pink. She's painted the entry way blue, and put stickers of Winnie the Pooh all over the walls. It's just weird."

"Is she going to be competent enough to stand trial?" Sara asked.

A wicked smile on his face, Brass quietly said, "Oh, yes. She's not incompetent at all. She knew exactly what she was doing. In very careful detail after we searched the house she and her brother shared, she explained everything. After all, why shouldn't she have whatever she wants?"

"What evidence did you find?" Grissom asked.

"We have the truck in the garage," Nick said, yawning. "We're going to swab it for DNA, and pray something is there. Laughlin PD is going through the rest of it. If they find anything in the house, they'll ship it up."

Taking up the next part, Greg added, "What she didn't realize is that she herself gave us the clue where to find the murder weapons. Phoenix Metro PD went out to her parent's grave, and found the box that had been buried weeks before. She'd been smart about it. She'd dug up the top layer so she could lay it over and make the ground seem undisturbed after a couple of weeks."

"I haven't gotten to the best part," Brass quietly said to the room at large. "After this performance she put on, she looked at me with this… smirking expression… on her face, and said, 'Nice theory I laid out, isn't it. I dare you to prove it.' Unfortunately for her, we did. Phoenix is running the DNA they found on the stake, crossbow, and ice pick."

"When the facts change, so must the theory – even if it means the theory becomes stranger," Grissom murmured. Standing, he looked at Nick and Greg. "Go home. Nick, it's your night off anyway. Greg, you're about maxed out on overtime, anyway. I'll see you tomorrow night."

Brass stood and looked at the two remaining occupants of the room. "You know, I've seen some sick things in all my years on the job." With an apologetic glance at Sara, he added, "Natalie was a true mental case. There was something seriously wrong with her. She was broken." Shaking his head a couple of times, he finished, "This one… there's nothing wrong with her. She's just… evil."

As the three of them walked out of the office, Sara commented, "Well, at least we know Vegas isn't the only Mecca of the bizarre."

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A/N – Yes or no. Is there a Reptilian conspiracy?


	22. Chapter 22

A/N – For those who have not read Tempered, the character April is Sara's step-sister. Sara's mother is married to a man named Dennis, and has been for a decade. Sara's mother raised April. The character of April is described in much more depth in Tempered.

Disclaimer – Gimme a break. I'm running out of disclaimer ideas.

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As Catherine passed his office, she heard Gil Grissom actually laugh – not the cynical 'Well, that figures' or 'Whatever' laugh, but a real laugh. Stopping in her tracks, she frowned as she realized he was talking on his cell with his back to the door. When his voice softened and he said, "I can't wait to see you either," followed by, "no, Sara hasn't caught on," she was stunned. Her brain blank from hearing his statement, she made her way to her office.

Hearing someone outside his door, Grissom hung up with, "I've got to go. I'll see you later." Quickly, he made his way to his door, only to see Catherine disappear around the corner. _Oh no_, he thought, _she heard. Please God, don't let her tell Sara_.

Little did he know, Catherine was ensconced in her office, building herself into a rage, and contemplating doing just that. "I should talk to Sara," she muttered, followed by, "I can't do that. She's here because of him – for him."

"She's here for both of us, Catherine," he said, smiling. Leaning against the door frame, Gil continued, "Keep in mind that I would never hurt her intentionally, and that I want her to be happy." Walking away, Catherine stared after him, then sat, laid her hands flat, and followed them down with her forehead on the cool desk.

Popping his head into DNA, he didn't find his wife, so he made his way to the research lab. Popping in his personal code, he was surprised to hear the same ring tone shooting out from the speakers as she had for him on her cell phone. Smiling, he shut the door and made his way over to a smiling Sara.

"Long time no see," she murmured, as he wrapped his arms around her.

"Thirty seven minutes," he smirked in reply. "Eternity."

The kiss was so typical… starting off as barely touching, just a brushing of lips, and then sinking into something more. Had they not been interrupted by an indiscreet, laughing cough, it would have become deeper, more passionate.

Sighing, and still entwined in her husband's arms, Sara sighed, "I need to set up your ring tone," to Brass.

Smirking, Brass replied, "Yes, but then I'd never get to see Grissom looking half stoned on… well… you."

Stepping away and immediately feeling that loss of primal heat, Grissom sighed, and asked, "Sara, since when did you give Brass a code?"

Grinning, she replied, "I gave it to him yesterday when he came all the way over here to talk to me and couldn't find me anywhere, since I left my cell phone in DNA." Turning to Brass, "What brings you by?"

"Oh, I just wanted to check out the new digs. I haven't had a chance to look around," he said.

Laughing, she spent a few minutes showing the detective around, pointing out the different work stations. When she realized Brass had absolutely no interest in the computer equipment she _still_ drooled over, Sara rolled her eyes and kept the tour moving. Finally, she stopped next to the schematic light table.

"Is this a complete first draft?" Grissom asked, looking at the blueprints in front of him.

"Very very rough," she replied. Tapping a couple keys on her desk, she brought up a document. "I'm putting it together with the functional specifications here."

"Nice," he murmured. "Very interesting."

"I'm heading for coffee," Sara announced. "Is anyone joining me?"

On the way out, she very quietly whispered into her husband's ear, "By the way, they're delivering a really nice couch tomorrow morning. Very soft." She winced when Brass began laughing, apparently hearing her. _Note to self. Speak more quietly around Jim._

On the way to the break room, Grissom's cell rang and he checked the caller ID. With a wave of his hand, he begged off, heading towards his office. Once inside, he flipped open the phone and smiled, "Where are you?"

Passing by his office, Greg stopped when he heard, "Yeah, I miss you, too." Considering he'd just seen Sara in the break room talking to Brass, he began to think of the diner, and suddenly found himself getting angry. Knocking on the door, an irate look on his face, he watched Grissom abruptly hang up.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, closing the office door. "You had better not be having an affair on her."

"Greg," Grissom heaved on a heavy sigh. "Maybe you'd better sit down." When Greg walked out of Grissom's office ten minutes later, he had a smile on his face.

Having gotten totally caught up early in the shift, Sara made her way back to her research. Sitting at her light table, she pulled out her sketch pencils and worked more on the basic layout of the machinery she required. Once complete, she turned back to the computer and continued on the hardware requirements. Around four in the morning, her eyes began to droop, and she settled her head onto her crossed arms.

She woke up to feel his hands on her shoulders, slowly kneading. When she arched her back, his hands moved up to her neck, and eventually into her hair. Tilting her head back, she smiled at him, and said, "I think maybe I was tired."

Leaning down, he said, "I have a surprise for you. Come with me."

Helping her stand, he assisted his groggy wife toward the door, knowing the fog would clear from her mind before they ever reached the hall. Stopping her before they got there, Grissom leaned in and murmured, "I love you. You know that, right?" When he saw panic rise in her eyes, he could have kicked himself.

"Honey, it's okay. I just haven't told you that in awhile," he said, and saw the alarm turn to relief mingled with curiosity.

"So, what are we doing here?" she asked, as they stood in the middle of the CSI hallway.

Smiling, Grissom said, "Just stay right here."

Walking away, Sara looked around and the empty hall, a bewildered look on her face. When Greg came up behind her, he said, "So, Sara… did you like my idea for the eye piece?"

"I'm already including it in the specifications," she said with a smile. "I love the idea of being able to flip through lens types for easy maneuverability from Infra Red to night vision." Pausing in consideration, she murmured, "Although, I think I may have a better idea…"

When she began to move back towards her lab, Greg began to stress. His job had been to make sure she wasn't looking toward the lobby. _Oh crap_, he though. _Think fast. Think fast. Think fast._

"Um, actually, wait!" he said, rather forcefully. When she gave him a strange look, he gave a fake laugh and said, "Wow. I've had too much coffee tonight."

Hoping to divert her attention, his mind started buzzing, and came up with, "I have another idea. It's about the whole camera thing." Unfortunately, he had no idea what he was talking about, and was thus thankful when he glanced over her shoulder and saw Grissom escorting a young woman down the hall. The glance turned into a double-take, followed by a long stare. All thoughts flew out of his head, and his mind went completely, hopelessly… blank.

Wondering at the bemused expression on her friend's face, Sara curiously looked over her shoulder, and smiled that rare full Sara smile.

The blond on Gil's arm fairly well bounced when she walked. The smile just screamed _California Girl_ and the clothes… definitely not something you'd find in the crime lab. Sara contemplated what would happen if Ecklie ever found one of the employees here dressed in low rider jeans and a tank top that revealed a pierced belly button.

_I swear to God, I expect her to start spouting cheers and waving pom-poms,_ Sara chuckled. She had no doubt that's how people would view her, just as she knew how shocked people would be to find out the young woman had an amazingly brilliant mind, and was in the top one percent of her class at Stanford.

When the young woman finally stood face to face with Sara, arms tangled around one another, as hugs and murmurs of 'I've missed you' were exchanged. In the meanwhile, nearly every tech in the building managed to find a way to get a good view and gawk.

While two important women in his life reunited, Grissom got a good look at the shell shocked look on Greg's face and raised a brow. Finally snapping out of it, Greg said, "Wow. She's… hot."

"That was more than I needed to hear, Greg," Grissom replied. "You're talking about my sister-in-law."

Laughing, Sara disengaged from the hug, and turned to the two men. "Greg, I'd like you to meet April, my step-sister. April, this is Greg."

Grinning, April very slowly visually assessed a squirming Greg, and finally said, "You're right, Sara. He is kind of cute."

Suddenly realizing who had come to visit her, Sara said, "Hold it. What are you doing here?"

The grin turning into a blinding smile, April started singing, "Happy 21st birthday to me… happy 21st birthday to me…"

Tilting her head a bit, April looked at Sara, and said, "Actually, I'm here to surprise you. I've brought over some equipment for the lab, and I missed you." Looking around at the random heads popping out of doors, and watching several people line up behind Greg, she added, "Plus, I really wanted to see where you work."

Leaning in, April quietly said for Sara's ears only, "Grissom wants to perform an experiment on social archetypes and stigma. He wants to see how long they think I'm a total airhead."

Sara shook her head and grinned before murmuring under her breath, "I'm game."

April looked at the strawberry blond behind Greg and moved forward, grasping her hand. "You must be Catherine," she said, "Sara's told me all about you and your daughter. It's wonderful to meet you." When the man next to Catherine extended his hand and said, "I'm ---" she cut him off with "Nick Stokes."

At his bemused expression, she laughed and added, "It's the southern accent. It gave you away."

Turning back to Greg, April interlinked her arm through his, turned her head away from the young CSI before winking at Grissom. Flipping her long blond hair over her shoulder, she leaned a little more into Greg, and murmured, "I'm starving. How about you feed me."

As she led him towards the lobby, Greg gave two panicked looks towards Sara and Grissom. As they turned out of sight, Grissom looked at Sara and said, "Should I be worried about Greg being out with my twenty one year old sister-in-law?"

Before Sara could even reply, Catherine stepped forward and replied, "Doubtful. Somehow, I think she could eat him alive."

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A/N – I hope you enjoy. I really like Sara's step-sister. I introduced her in Tempered, and decided to carry her over. Please let me know what you think. She's based on a friend from college.


	23. Chapter 23

A/N – It's a little shorter chapter. I wanted to give Brass an intro to April. Plus, I'm trying to work out how to play Grissom's mental game he and April have planned. I realize it's just a little piece of fluff, but I'm having fun with it.

Disclaimer – Do disclaimers need to be written for commercials, too?

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It took everything she had for Sara not to laugh. The look on Greg's face had been priceless. Little did he know the ride he was _really_ going on – yet. Sara and April may have only known each other for a handful of months, but an immediate camaraderie had formed on their meeting. With a solid foundation of mutual acceptance and affection, Sara had found a younger sister to dote on, while April had found someone to look up to.

Turning around, Sara started back toward her research. Not until she'd safely ensconced herself in her lab did she let the mirth free. Beginning with a chuckle, within mere moments she doubled over with laughter, while Gil grinned in return.

"Did you like my surprise, dear?" he asked.

Wiping her eyes, and attempting to control her breathing, she nodded, and launched herself at him. Hugging him close, she smiled as she kissed him quickly. Just as suddenly, her face fell.

"She just arrived… and took off with Greg of all people," Sara muttered. "I got to see her for less than five minutes!"

Grabbing her agitatedly waving arms, Grissom smiled and said, "We're meeting them for breakfast," before pulling her into a hug.

"I really do love you," she murmured in response, before capturing his lips with hers.

When that same laughing, indiscreet cough interrupted them again, Sara closed her eyes and murmured, "I'm revoking his access code."

"Hey, I was in the building and heard I missed a good show," Brass responded with a smirk. "I just wanted to hear it from the horse's mouth."

Tilting her head back, she looked at the detective and said, "Gil's performing an experiment. Why don't you come to breakfast with us, and you'll meet the cause of the disruption." Suddenly frowning, Sara looked at her husband and asked, "Why did she go with Greg?"

"Oh, that," Grissom said, casually. "Since Greg is the one most likely to figure out the 'game', I suggested she get him alone and explain it to him."

A few hours later, the five of them met at the Grissom residence. When Jim, Grissom, and Sara walked in carrying take-out, they found the duo sitting on the couch, laughing.

"Oh, this is my favorite part!" Greg exclaimed, eliciting April's "Hey, me too!"

Cranking up the sound, the room was filled with _"Bring Out Your Dead! Bring Out Your Dead!"_ Laughing, April started reciting the lines of the cart master, while Greg answered back in the voice of the old man. Both were laughing so hard, they leaned drunkenly against one another one the couch, and never noticed the trio watching them.

"Monty Python?" Brass asked.

Grudgingly, Grissom admitted, "They found my stash of movies." Before Brass could make a remark about his taste, he added, "The Holy Grail is a great study of satire."

"Of course," Brass replied. "I'm sure that's why you watch it – for research."

Rolling her eyes as the two loudly bantered over the screaming, Sara stepped over and flipped off the television to the protests of April and Greg. Still laughing, they slowly rose, falling into one another, and taking a moment to collect themselves before straightening.

"She rocks," Greg told Sara, while pointing at the giggling blond. "Did you know she can count cards? I got a lesson in the Tangiers at the black jack tables."

"April," Sara frowned, warningly. "You know better."

Interrupting a further lecture, Greg soberly said, "I already told her to use her powers for good, not evil." The laughter from Greg and smile from April told Sara just how seriously April took the warning.

"Do it again, and I call Laura and Dennis," Sara sternly replied. Satisfied when April's eyes widened, Sara gathered everyone in the dining room, making introductions.

Over breakfast, Jim got to see not only the beautiful, vibrant college student, but the brilliant scientific mind behind her gray eyes. When Sara presented an issue with an algorithm to run the software for the microchip, April grabbed a pencil and paper and started working through the problem. Eventually, she plopped down the pad in front of Sara and said, "Okay, here's a piece of pseudo-code I'd use to build the firmware, given the requirements."

When Jim asked about her GPA, April blushed and said, "I'm a straight A student."

"What's with the act, then?" he asked.

Laughing, April replied, "It's not an act. This is me." The laughter fading, she added, "I was valedictorian of my high school class, _and_ a cheerleader."

More soberly, "I went through a period in where I worried about what people thought of me. My freshman year, I was insecure and tried to 'dumb myself down' around boys and some of my friends. It made me unhappy. It made me fold into myself and withdraw. One of my teachers talked to my parents, and I saw a counselor."

Sighing, she finished, "I like who I am. The people important to me – my family, my friends, my professors – they know who I really am. Their opinions are the only ones that matter."

Matter-of-fact, she added with a grin, "Plus, I really do like to have fun."

Smiling, Brass turned to Grissom and said, "Oh, this is going to be fun to watch."

Yawning, Greg stood and said, "Well, I need to get some sleep," and April quickly offered, "I'll walk you out."

"So… how are you going to feel with Sanders dating your very young sister-in-law?" Jim asked Gil.

"He's not dating her," Grissom remarked. "That was just a ploy."

When Brass looked at Sara, he asked, "Is Gil always this oblivious?"

"Pretty much," Sara murmured.

Once everyone had left, and a dazzled April was bedded down in the guest room at the other end of the hall, Sara and Gil lay under their warmed sheets, curled together. "You do understand Brass is right," Sara said.

"Greg's too old for her," Grissom replied.

"Uh huh. There's less difference between them than between us," Sara retorted.

Frowning, he replied, "She's only twenty one."

"And?"

"She's too young," Grissom sighed. As if trying to convince himself, he muttered, "I'm sure they're just friends, anyway. After all, they barely know each other."

"Is that how you felt when we had coffee after your lecture? That we were _just_ friends?" Sara asked. Kissing his chin, she murmured, "I was head over heels for you the minutes I saw your eyes, and the intelligence behind them." Smiling, she added, "April's an adult. She's also smart. Leave her alone."

With a 'humph', Gil kissed his wife's forehead and continued frowning.

"Honey, what's with the concern, anyway?" Sara asked.

"I've spent a great deal of time on the phone with April these last weeks, and have gotten to know her pretty well," he reluctantly replied. "She's one of the few truly genuine people I've had the pleasure of meeting." Sighing, he continued, "In some ways she reminds me of you when we first met – full of ideas, ambitions, and hope. I don't want that to change."

He then frowned and muttered in a low voice, "Maybe I better talk to Greg."

When he felt his wife laugh against his chest, his frown turned to a perplexed look. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, Gil… in the words of Mark Twain, 'Denial ain't just a river in Egypt'." When he just grunted, she laughed all the harder.

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A/N – Okay, I hope you like it. I'm adding a little complexity into the story, and a little zing into Greg's life. I envision April being in some ways more emotionally mature than Greg, even if she is younger and more generally inexperienced and naïve about life.


	24. Chapter 24

A/N – Okay, I'm having fun writing April into the story. I hope you like what I do with it, too.

Disclaimer – I'd write one, but I'm too busy Googling something and could care less.

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The next day, April went into work with Grissom and Sara. Starting in the DNA lab, Sara gave her an overview of the job she performed, answering the thoughtful questions posed by the young woman.

Stopping off in Trace, Sara made quick introductions, "Hodges, I'd like you to meet April."

"Oh?" he responded in that all so superior tone. A tinge of smugness, he asked, "Where do you work?" April didn't think he'd be surprised if she said something like _tanning salon_, and held back the sharp retort.

"Oh, I'm in college," April responded, working hard to keep the smile on her face. From the sneering look on his, she knew he was thinking _Party girl_. Looking around the room, she added, "This is cool equipment. You must have a very interesting job." Standing in front of a microscope, she asked, "What are you looking at here?"

"Oh, don't touch that," Hodges said quickly, reaching her side. "This is very sensitive equipment." It took everything she had not to outright snort. It was the same microscope she had in her study lab at school. However, one of the rules of the game was that she couldn't provide information unless specifically asked, so April held her tongue, and signaled to Sara to get her out of there and away from the snob.

Walking down the hall a few minutes later, she grinned. Lowering her voice, April said, "He really thinks I'm some blond bimbo, doesn't he?"

Looking back at the Trace lab, Sara watched Hodges go about his business. "Hodges has a tendency to be a judgmental ass, with pockets of human decency," Sara mused.

At April's curious glance, she added, "There have been times where he's gone above and beyond what's necessary." Catching April's gaze, she slightly smiled, with a tone of sadness, before saying, "If it weren't for him, the car I was buried under may not have been found – they may never have found me in the desert. He isolated the location, and in general is good at what he does."

Contemplating this information, April finally laughed and said, "Hmmm… in that case, I won't kick his butt the next time he treats me like an airhead." Looking around, she asked, "Where to next?"

"Let's stop by A/V. I want you to meet Archie. The equipment we unloaded into my office is for him," Sara said, walking towards the audio-visual lab. Knocking on the door, Archie leaned back in his chair and smiled.

"Come on in," he said, taking a sip of coffee. Turning his head, he saw who it was, and the monitors went black, but not before giving April and Sara an eye full.

"How are you liking Las Vegas?" he asked April.

"Well, so far I've been gambling – made a hundred bucks. Other than that, I've been getting caught up with Gil and Sara," she commented. Getting distracted, she finally asked, "Exactly what were you looking at?"

Grimacing, Archie replied, "Porn – home made, and underage."

"What case?" Sara asked.

"It's an overflow from Day Shift. It's a child porn ring they came across when investigating a sexual assault," he said, then added, "I'm trying to get clear images of the faces on the tapes, but in the meanwhile…"

"In the meanwhile, you have to look at that," April said, with obvious distaste.

"Yeah," he replied. "I'm only halfway through eighteen hours of this crap." After blowing out a humorless breath, he added, "At least I don't have to listen to it. There's no soundtrack for this."

Her face a study of thoughtful concentration, April murmured, "I wonder if an algorithm can be designed to run facial analysis and present a 3-Dimensional image. Facial recognition software exists, so I can't imagine it's not possible to generate a piece of code that will take that type of technology and translate it for the purposes of video tapes like this."

Sara had seen April go into analysis mode before – usually when solving a problem or studying for a test. The young woman's eyes would cloud, and she'd focus in on some thought or concept.

When April's eyes cleared, it was to a surprised look on Archie's face. Grinning ruefully, she looked at Sara and said, "Oops. So much for the game – at least with Archie."

At the A/V tech's raised eyebrows, Sara smiled, and quietly explained the little mind experiment Grissom was playing. By the time they walked out, Archie was grinning from ear to ear.

The next stop brought them to Bobby Dawson's lair. Stepping in, Sara once again made introductions, and watched the Ballistics expert turn into… jelly. When April tongue-in-cheek asked if he liked playing with all those big guns, he turned an interesting shade of red and started expounding on the analysis of grooves in a bullet.

Finding the topic interesting, April took the opportunity to watch as he brought up images a bullet he fired from a weapon against a bullet from a victim. "Wow," she murmured. Turning toward him, she asked, "Are these considered to be like fingerprints or DNA? Unique to each weapon?"

Shaking his head and feeling his element, he said, "Sometimes yes, sometimes no. If I can match one up, then it's considered proof of that weapon being used in the crime. However, it's possible for someone to _change_ the markings. So as you can see, this signature can be changed, while fingerprints and DNA generally can't be."

"Cool," April murmured.

"Well, we'll see you later, Bobby," April waved, as she and Sara made their way out of the lab. Murmuring to Sara, she asked, "He seems awfully sweet. He kind of faltered over me at first, but he knows his stuff, and is willing to answer an intelligent question."

Making their way next to the fingerprint lab, they found Mandy at her computer. Once introductions were made, April asked, "Do you mind if I see what you're working on?"

"Sure," she replied, hesitantly, but flipped around her monitor enough to show her guests. "I'm trying to match up some prints Nick brought in. I'm running them through AFIS."

Curious, April said, "I know that you can find matches against the database through AFIS. Is that verification enough for positive identification?"

Surprised by the question, Mandy stuttered, "N-no, actually. Once I get a match, I run a visual compare of the fingerprint found against an inked exemplar."

"I admire anyone who has the patience for this," April said, her face a picture of sincerity. "I imagine it must be extremely tedious at times."

As they headed for the door, Mandy laughed, "You're not what you seem, April. It was a pleasure to meet you."

The final lab was Toxicology, but they didn't stay there long. After walking in, Henry's tongue seemed to get stuck, and he just stammered. April was about to ask him how he remained unaffected by the chemicals around him, but was afraid to open her mouth for fear of laughing. Only a minute or two after saying hello, they said goodbye and left Toxicology. Once in the DNA lab, Sara closed the door, as April started laughing into her hands.

"Henry is a really a nice guy with an interesting sense of humor. I think he has trouble talking in general when he's feeling intimidated, and I'm pretty sure you intimidated him," Sara said, trying to keep a straight face, and failing miserably.

"Okay, Sara… where do we go now," April finally asked, after calming herself.

Smiling, Sara lightly said, "Break room." If any CSIs were in the building, she'd find them there.

Walking in, they found Catherine and Wendy getting coffee and reading reports.

"Hey," Sara said in way of greeting. "You've met April?"

Catherine took in the young woman's attire of t-shirt, jeans, hiking boots, and leather jacket, and smiled. Her first thought was _college student_. Wendy was slightly quicker than that. She caught April's gaze and looked in her eyes. What she saw there, made Wendy smile – she saw humor and intelligence, regardless of the 'exterior' and playful attitude.

Grinning at one another, Catherine nodded at Wendy.

"So what are you studying?" Wendy asked.

"Math and computer science," April responded with amusement. "Minor in physics, although I'm considering changing the minor to forensics."

"So, Sara never told us she had a sister," Catherine stated.

"I never knew I _had_ a sister," Sara replied nonchalantly. "We met in San Francisco."

Sara and April sat on the couch after pouring themselves some coffee.

"So tell me," Catherine began, "how have you liked the tour of the lab so far?"

Ten minutes later, the duo had explained Grissom's game and their results to Catherine and Wendy. "So, I'm actually impressed," April said. "In general, once I started asking questions, most figured it out quickly enough. Henry seemed to have trouble just talking, in general. Only one seems to think I'm still a few marbles short."

Rolling her eyes, Wendy muttered, "Hodges."

When Nick and Warrick arrived, they found the four women laughing so hard they had trouble calming for a moment. Then Nick made the mistake of asking what they found so funny, setting them off again. Eventually, they let the two men in on the story.

"Grissom's idea?" Nick finally asked, once he could control his breathing.

"Of course," Warrick scoffed with a grin. "He's the only one around here that uses humans as test subjects."

"How else can I analyze human behavior?" Grissom asked from the doorway, one eyebrow raised in question. In that tone he would often get when trying to get a point across to his CSIs, he expounded, "After all, how do we learn if we don't question?"

He never expected April's reply.

Barking out a laugh, she said, "I think I like Scott Adams' take on it a little better: **'If there are no stupid questions, then what kind of questions do stupid people ask? Do they get smart just in time to ask questions?' **"

When Grissom's eyebrows shot up, she grinned and said, "I learn from Dilbert."

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A/N – I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I had fun with it.


	25. Chapter 25

A/N – Okay, another piece of fluff. I'm actually trying to work up another case file (not going to well, as the holidays turned my brain to mush, but it should be coming soon). I hope you enjoy. Please Review.

Disclaimer – Once upon a time, people didn't sue each other for every little thing. Can't we go back to the good old days?

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An hour before shift ended, Sara made her way back to her research lab. Caught up on DNA analysis, she wanted to prep the equipment April had brought with her for Archie's lab. In a set of three boxes was a new multi-processor high-powered server, a big screen LCD multiple display monitor, and software. When she entered her code, she was surprised to find April already setting everything up on a cart, with Greg watching and acting as assistant.

"Plugged in?" April asked.

"Yep," Greg replied.

"Here we go," April murmured, and flipped the switch… watching the system jump to life. As codes flashed across the screen, April said, "Oh my. It's open source." Smiling at Greg, she grinned, "Wicked."

"Yes, the operating system _is_ open source," Sara said. "For that matter, so is some of the code. It's designed in that manner so it can be customized."

"Hey, Sara," April smiled, blushing slightly, "Sorry for getting into the boxes, but I couldn't take it anymore. I just _had_ to see what it would look like." Waving her hand at the monitor, she smiled and added, "This is just amazing. I want it. I want it bad."

Turning to Greg, she grinned and said, "Can you imagine playing video games on this puppy?" Laughing, she tapped on a couple of keys, and her face settled as she focused. "Okay, get the software out of the boxes there. I want to get everything registered so Archie doesn't need to worry about it."

As the two of them worked side-by-side, Sara settled into reviewing her sketches. She knew that once she'd gotten the prototype specifications complete, she would need someone to design the circuit boards for her. Apparently her friend and 'boss' Janie already had a team lined up to handle the hardware aspects.

When Catherine's ring tone went off on the door, Sara pulled her eyes up from her documentation and smiled.

"What's up?" Sara asked, without preamble.

"Warrick and I are thinking breakfast at Frank's," she said. "Are you up for it?"

"Can it wait an hour or so?" Sara asked, "I think they're ready to give Archie his present."

Later, settled at a large table at their usual diner, everyone ordered breakfast, and started the interrogation. April had already figured out Sara didn't freely talk about her past. Greg said he knew about it, but April wasn't about to divulge what she knew, which made her feel odd. She'd been raised to be open and honest at all times.

"So, Sara," Catherine began, "how is it you didn't know you had a sister?"

"My mother and I have been estranged," Sara mumbled, focusing on her meal, and ending the line of questioning.

"April, what year are you in school?" Greg asked, obviously changing the subject.

"Technically, I'm a senior. I have enough credits that I could graduate _now_ if I wanted to. I have attended summer school, plus took some math courses at a local college when I was in high school. Add to that the Advanced Placement credits I received in math, World Lit, and history," April explained. "However, I don't want to double-major. I want two degrees, and a strong minor, so I figure I have a year and a half of coursework left."

Wendy thoughtfully asked, "How did you get into the sciences?"

Blushing, April responded, "Actually, it's partly Sara's fault." At her step-sister's surprised look, she continued, "I found some old books on physics, chemistry, and math in a box when Sara's mom married my dad. I started reading them, and got hooked. Mom really encouraged it. She told me about Sara and how she loved to read and run little experiments, and how she'd always admired that about Sara. It turned out, I absolutely loved running experiments, too… and seeing how theory could turn into reality. I just plain loved studying in school."

Frowning, Sara asked, "Speaking of which, aren't you supposed to be in school right now? Isn't the semester at Stanford underway?"

"Yep," replied the grinning April. "I'm playing hooky for a week." Suddenly frowning, she asked, "Although… is it playing hooky if you pick up the homework and test reviews, and let your professors know where you're going in advance?" Mumbling she added, "I've already checked in with my professors three times since I left."

Warrick and Nick laughed, before Warrick said, "No offense, but I think you might just be more anal than Sara," which received a glare from the brunette.

Catherine looked at the young woman, taking in the sorority girl look, and asked, "Do you ever encounter problems with your professors or classmates?"

"That's an interesting question," April replied. "I imagine I encounter the same idiots you did when you were in college."

At Catherine's sharp laugh, April received confirmation of the assessment. When Catherine replied, "There are all kinds of idiots in the world. It's refreshing to see someone who is willing to play to their assets _and_ intelligence. Good for you."

When Brass finally walked in, pulled up a chair, and ordered a coffee, he looked at Grissom and grinned. "So, how did your experiment go today?"

He hadn't expected the women at the table to start laughing, or take several minutes to calm themselves. In detail, Sara and April went through their day. By the end, everyone was grinning.

"Wish I'd been there to see it," Brass said. Slapping Grissom on the back, Brass barked out a laugh and looked at April. "Dilbert?"

"Scott Adams is my hero," she replied. "All answers to life can be found in a Dilbert comic."

Grissom looked at the ceiling, shaking his head, and turned the conversation with, "So, I heard Archie likes the new system you brought, Sara."

"I thought he was going to start crying when he saw it," Greg replied, grinning. "When he saw the top of the line rendering software that came with it, his eyes glazed."

Laughing, Sara added, "Unfortunately, all the setup and upgrades you applied to the system are going to waste, April. He was on-line, looking to customize as soon as he booted up. The guy from Days was trying to get Archie out of the way, so he could have a turn, too."

Greg snorted in response, "Archie will likely kill the guy if he tries to take over."

"I still think we ought to be able to find a better way to identify faces from porn videos, like the ones Archie was looking at, in a more appropriate manner. I can't imagine looking at some of the stuff he does can be healthy for anyone," April murmured.

Looking at Grissom, Sara raised an eyebrow. _What do you think?_

He tilted his head in response. _I'm okay with it. What about your mother? Will you be okay with it?_

Frowning, Sara put her chin on her head and contemplated, and smiled. _I can't be worried about Laura. It needs to be up to April._

They'd talked in his office earlier, and understood the concerns about asking April to intern in the lab. While Sara and April had developed a relationship that grew closer every day, Sara and her mother were another matter. They spoke every week or two, but the relationship was still hesitant on Sara's part. Asking April to intern would bring Laura and her husband Dennis closer. It would potentially expose Sara's past – something she was still very leery to do around anyone.

Sitting back, it was easy to read's Grissom's raised eyebrow. _It's up to you._

Watching the two of them, April soberly asked, "What's up?"

Sara replied, "I have a question to ask, but I don't want you to feel any pressure." Glancing at her husband for a moment, her gaze turned back to April, and she asked, "How would you feel about interning for me?"

"Really?" April asked, smiling. "When?"

"That's up to you," Sara replied.

"I could probably telecommute into most of my classes at this point, and perhaps take a couple of classes here," April murmured. "Let me think about the timing and talk to my professors, and I'll let you know in a couple of days."

Her thought process steering he in another direction, April looked at her step-sister, and quietly said, "Mom and dad will visit, you know. You won't be able to… hold mom at a distance, like you are now." April winced when she realized she'd just talked about something Sara considered private in front of everyone.

"I know," Sara stiffly replied. "I'll handle it."

Hugging Sara, who sat rigidly between her and Grissom, April softly whispered in Sara's ear, "Mom loves you. Dad thinks you walk on water. Just remember that, okay?"

When her eyes misted and sudden tears spilled over, Sara quickly disengaged herself and excused herself from the table with, "I'll be right back." Grissom sedately followed her out.

"They rarely touch in the lab – at least not in sight of anyone," Nick said, as he watched his boss walk up behind his friend in the parking lot, and wrap his arms around her shoulders. As she sank back into his embrace, Nick could see Grissom talking. "I can't remember ever really seeing them touch at work. They managed to segment out their lives."

Greg huffed out a breath, and said, "Are you kidding? They touched all the time, but it's always been so much a part of the way they interact, no one noticed when it changed. Looking back, I can remember several occasions where the contact lasted a little longer or seemed just a hint more intimate."

Eventually, Sara and Grissom returned in order to pay for theirs and April's breakfast and head home. It was still 'early', being only nine o'clock, but Sara was exhausted.

Awhile later, Sara and April sat on the couch at home, watching the Discovery channel.

"You should tell them," April said. "They'll figure it out if mom and dad come and visit. You know how open mom is about her life." Catching Sara's gaze, she added, "Would you rather they hear it from you or mom?"

Sighing, the young woman finally said, "I'll understand if you change your mind on the internship."

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A/N – Well, I hope you all have a happy New Year! May 2008 bring you great blessings! (Oh, and a review would be nice.)


	26. Chapter 26

A/N – I hope everyone is having a fabulous 2008 so far! Mine's going great. The kids are actually listening to me. Weird.

Disclaimer – Nope. Not gonna do it.

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Sara grabbed April's arm as she stood from the couch. Guiding her back to her seat, Sara finally said in a low, husky voice, "You're right. I need to talk to my team – make them understand."

Looking into April's grey eyes, she added, "I want you to intern with me. I have loved getting to know you. Maybe part of it's selfish, because I have a kid sister who is what I always wanted to be, and it amazes me. I like having you around."

Hugging Sara tightly, April felt the tears begin to gather, and fall. "I love being around you, too. I just plain love you. And I can't think of anything I'd rather do than work for you."

"I love you, too," Sara whispered back, and exhaled a long breath.

Suddenly very tired, Sara yawned, and said, "I'm going to bed."

When she tracked down her husband, he'd fallen asleep at his desk, a journal laid out in front of him, and his reading glasses askew. Gently shaking him, she murmured in his ear, "Bed time." Groggily, he followed her down the hall, into the blacked out bedroom, and together they fell into a dreamless slumber.

Unfortunately, Sara saw little of April for the rest of her stay. Opting to arrive at the lab later than Grissom or Sara, April spent a great deal of time studying and making sure she didn't fall behind in her classes. When she wasn't studying, she spent time with Greg – going dancing, getting a tour of the city, and just hanging out.

The week came and went quickly. Sara was getting slammed in DNA, and on more than one occasion got pulled into a case for a spare set of eyes. Added to that, since they generally arrived a couple of hours before the others, she spent a couple of hours at the end of each shift working in her lab. She'd talked to Janie, and needed to get the circuit board specs out to the electronics team as soon as possible.

It was the day before she left that April pulled Sara aside.

"I'm heading home tomorrow, but I think I've got it worked out that I can be back here in about four weeks," she said. "I've worked it out with my teachers that I can telecommute for the rest of the year. My main professor, Dr. Gideon, is working out a schedule with a math professor at UNLV for a couple of summer classes."

"That's great," Sara replied, smiling.

The day after April left, Grissom and Greg got a call to a local art gallery. Detective Vega stood in the middle of the room, when they arrived. Walking in carrying their kits, Greg blew out a breath and said, "Wow. Somebody was pissed off."

Standing in the center of a large warehouse-size room, with layered partition walls hanging from the ceiling, Greg turned a full circle and examined the damage. There were dozens of paintings. "Somehow, I don't think the black paint and slices through the canvas were meant to be part of the pictures," Greg said, as he and Grissom surveyed the damage.

"The owner of the gallery came in to do some last minute checks on the exhibit, and found… this. As you can see, someone has decided to redecorate," Vega said.

"Security system?" Grissom queried.

Shaking his head, Vega responded, "The security system was still active, and there was no sign of forced entry."

Signaling, an officer escorted a short, robust middle age man to them.

"Sir," Grissom began, as the man shifted restlessly.

"Trent… Trent Davis," he replied, looking around.

"Could you tell us something about the paintings in here?" Greg asked.

"Brilliant young artist – his name was Billy Gaunt," the fidgeting man explained.

"Was?" Greg asked.

Sighing, Davis reverently said, "Yes. A brilliant artist. Died in a fiery automobile accident about a year ago."

Looking around the room, Davis's face fell and he continued, "Billy was considered good when he was alive, but in the past few months, his work has become more in demand. The abstracts he's painted are sought after by people all over the United States."

"How much would an average painting go for?" Greg asked, curiously.

"It depends on the painting, really," Davis explained. Pointing to a painting three feet by four feet, he said, "That particular painting is listed for seventy five thousand."

"Dollars?" Greg asked, surprised, and then shook his head, thinking, _There's no accounting for taste_.

"I hadn't realized his paintings had become that popular," Grissom murmured.

When Greg and Detective Vega looked at him, Grissom added, "Sara bought two of his paintings about four years ago. She had them hanging in her entryway at her apartment. They are in the living room at our house."

"Are you talking about the green and brown swirl-y paintings next to the book shelf?" Greg asked, recalling the similarities in style.

"Yes, she really likes his paintings. I'm not sure how much it cost back then, but I know she spent a great deal on it even then," Grissom stated. "My taste tends towards watercolors."

"That would be the trio of butterflies on the wall in the dining room," Greg grinned. "I figured that was you."

Looking around at the damage, Grissom said, "Greg, I want you to start processing on that side," and he pointed one direction. Heading the other direction, he added, "I'll start over here."

When Warrick showed up several hours later, Greg and Grissom had made significant headway in processing the paintings and surrounding walls. "Hey, Griss, I heard you might need an extra hand," Warrick called out.

Looking around, Grissom replied, "I need you to look at possible points of entry – doors, windows… everything."

It wasn't until they'd processed the majority of the suspension and permanent walls that Greg made the discovery of a small smudge of a pink substance on the wall. Indicating the overhead hanging lights, Greg hollered to Vega, "I need you to switch off the lights." Within moments, the room plunged into darkness, lit only by the exterior street lamps.

Snapping on the ALS, Greg yelled, "Hey Grissom. You need to see this!" As he waited for Grissom to cross the room, Greg pulled out a swab, wiped at the small spot he'd seen on the wall, and dripped some Leuko crystal violet over it. When it fluoresced, Greg's eyes snapped to Grissom's. "Blood."

Getting a closer look with the ALS, Grissom murmured, "There is no ridge detail. They wore gloves."

"I'd say latex or something like it," Warrick said from behind them. At Grissom's curious look, he added, "There are folds here," and pointed to where the thumb met the palm. "Thicker gloves wouldn't leave marks like that. The gloves need to be thin – so, if I had to hazard a guess, it would be something like latex."

Standing back made the ALS slightly less effective, but still usable for the purposes they intended. As Greg stepped back, aiming his ALS still at the wall, the single hand print became two, then four. Grissom and Warrick grabbed their own lights and went to work.

By the time the three finished reviewing each wall, Greg, Grissom, and Warrick had a good visual of what they would see if they had an ALS to illuminate the entire room. Every wall was stamped with bloody handprints that had been carefully wiped away.

It took them ten hours, and two trucks to collect and deliver the evidence to the lab, where it could be locked up. Grissom found Sara waiting for them, impatiently pacing his office. "Did you really collect thirty one Billy Gaunts?" she asked.

"Why hello to you too, Sara," Warrick sarcastically replied.

"Hey guys. So? Did you?"

"Actually, it was thirty two of his paintings we collected. They're currently crated, wrapped, and being stored in the garage," Grissom replied.

"We pulled dozens of fingerprints off the walls," Greg lamented. "Dozens."

"You're talking about over a million dollars in paintings," Sara stated, her face a mirror of concentration. "Four or five months ago, it would have been a fraction, but since the painter's dead, the prices have skyrocketed. The small painting we've got is worth over twenty thousand."

"Warrick, Greg – start cataloging the paintings, and log your notes. Then head home. We'll work our way through the rest tonight," Grissom ordered. "I'll drop off the fingerprints with Mandy, and the samples of the paint we collected to Hodges."

Turning to his wife, Grissom said, "We collected a large number of DNA samples we'll need tested."

Blowing out a long breath, Sara resigned herself to pulling a very long shift, but Grissom shook his head, and said, "Ecklie's already told the guy on Days to start processing. We're done for the day. Are you about ready to head home?"

"Yes," she softly replied. "I've gotten my specs off to Janie for the circuit boards I need built, and with any luck they'll be coming in, along with the machined parts, sometime next week."

After a quick, light meal, and a leisurely walk with Hank, Sara and Grissom finally made their way to their bed to relax and watch a movie. Laying curled up together, Sara murmured, "I need to talk to the team." At Grissom's questioning glance, she said, "They need to know where I came from… what I am."

When she started to pull away, he wrapped his arms more tightly around her. As her head tucked onto his shoulder, he whispered, "What you are is intelligent, witty, compassionate, and kind. Nothing else changes that – not Laura, not your father, not me."

"Thanks," she said. Sara tilted her head and Gil looked into those brown eyes. "I'm terrified. I have never been able to really talk about it. I've spent my life hiding from it, and worrying about what people will think of me when they know."

"Greg and I know," Grissom stated. "April knows, as well. People who love you will accept it, and see only your strength and will." Closing his eyes, and shuddering at the memory, he whispered, "In the desert, I was terrified. I was frozen – ineffective. I didn't know what I would have done had I lost you. Catherine was right, though. You're a survivor. That's what people see… nothing will change that."

Stroking her hand across the stubble on his cheek, Sara watched his eyes open, and the blue deepen. "I love you," she murmured as she tilted her head up, letting him meet her halfway. As he settled down from the headboard, and she joined him, she let her hands roam, and felt his own touching – everywhere. It wasn't the first time since she'd recovered from her ordeal that Sara had felt a sense of urgency pour from him. As she gave herself over, she knew it wouldn't be the last time she'd feel his hands tremble as they sought comfort through touch.

Once they'd found their solace in one another, and before she tumbled into sleep, Sara heard him whisper, "You're not just surviving. You're living. That's what matters."

Smiling, she fell asleep with her legs tangled in his, the sheet wrapped up in her feet, and her head on his shoulder. She woke the same way, with a sense of resolve.

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A/N – I hope you enjoy. Please leave me a review.


	27. Chapter 27

A/N – Okay, this is a short chapter. I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer – I propose that in 2008, CBS and Paramount be stripped of their legal obligations to CSI, and that guardianship of the characters be given to the fans.

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Sara was on her second day of testing DNA for the art heist, and the end finally seemed to be nearing. Grissom hadn't been lying when he said they'd collected a large number of samples. Whoever had wiped down the walls to clear the blood stains had done so with only a thin liquid, which Hodges traced back to standard cleaning fluid.

Furthermore, Hodges had entered her lab the day before, with a superiorly smug look on his face and asked, "What should you _not_ find in paint?"

Replying, "Hodges, I don't have time for games," she'd received a comment of "Well, _someone_ is cranky."

It wasn't until she'd pulled out the full Sidle glare and asked if he _always_ needed to be an ass that he'd finally huffed out a breath and said. "Fine. It's blood you don't expect to find in paint." Placing thirty two samples on her desk, he had walked out with a wave and "Good luck." That was the day before. Looking around, Sara was glad to see the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel.

Upon entering Sara's lair, Catherine looked at the exhausted brunette, and asked, "How long have you been here?" only to hear a mumbled "forever" tumble from Sara's lips, followed by a moaning, "We got here this morning. Gil got called in to look at some bugs found by Days, and I decided to get caught up."

"Grissom told me about the art vandalism case. I hear he's your favorite artist," Catherine said.

Smiling grimly, Sara nodded, "Yeah. I've always loved his work." Smirking, she added, "Greg just thinks they look like swirls, and I think Grissom silently agrees."

"No offense, but I'm with Grissom on this one," Catherine said. When Sara found she added, "Hey. Everyone's got their own taste. Besides, other than finding out about Gil's case, I was hoping you had my results from the Mackson case," Catherine said.

"Yeah," Sara replied, turning and digging through a pile of reports. "It's a match. It looks like the husband did it."

"Don't they always?" Catherine replied on a sigh.

As Catherine turned to leave, Sara hesitantly said, "Hey Catherine?" Steeling herself for the invitation, she asked, "Do you want to go get some coffee after shift?" and waited nervously for the response.

"Yeah," Catherine replied. "I'd like that," and frowned. "Can it be tomorrow, though? I'm busy with Lindsey today."

"Yeah, tomorrow's fine," Sara replied. Instead of feeling relief from the reprieve, she felt her apprehension intensify at the proposed wait.

Waving, Catherine left, pulling out her cell phone and calling Brass to have Drake Mackson picked up on the murder of his wife.

Grissom and Greg wandered into DNA as shift was ending, and the last samples were processing.

"Find anything?" Greg asked.

Blowing a stray strand of hair out of her face, Sara replied, "Nothing different than the last time you asked. I've got two samples processing right now, but so far every sample – from the walls _and_ the paint – has shown the blood came from the same source. When I ran it through CODIS, I came up empty."

After Greg left, Grissom murmured, "Take a break? You can't do anything while this runs."

Not needing to be asked twice, they made their way to the break room, where Sara sniffed the air and grimaced. "Swill," she muttered, filling her empty mug anyway.

On the couch, she tilted her head back and said, "I'm going out with Catherine after shift tomorrow." Closing her eyes, she quietly asked, "How do you tell someone that you've known for years that they don't know you at all?"

"Sara ---" Grissom started to say in a warning tone, only to be interrupted by her.

"No. Gil, think about it. I've known Catherine for years. How do I tell her_… 'By the way, did you know that if there is a genetic tendency for violence, that I might have it? Both sides. Dad got tanked up all the time and beat the crap out of mom and me. Mom just got tanked up and tired of it and ripped his guts open with a knife.'_ Or better, how about I just say _'Hey, you remember how I just took off awhile back? I thought I was losing my mind and decided to go find my mother. Oh yeah, she killed my dad._' I'm telling you, honey… I'm not precisely sure how she's going to take it… or Brass… or Nick… or Warrick."

It wasn't until she realized he hadn't said a word for quite some time that she opened her eyes and looked at her husband… who was looking at the doorway to the break room.

"Warrick stopped in to get coffee," Grissom said, catching her eye.

"You don't need to say anything to me, Sar," Warrick casually responded. "I figured you were sensitive to some cases because of something you survived." Making his way to the coffee pot, he poured himself a cup and took a seat next to Sara on the couch.

"One of the biggest clues you ever gave me was after Greg got beaten up – during the fannysmackin' case," Warrick explained. "You started talking about how those kids may have been young and from a bad place, but they knew the difference between beating someone to death and a wild night on the town. You've made other comments about cases, too. I've seen how you get around domestics. I've seen you take them personally."

Taking a sip of coffee, he paused, and then added, "Putting it all together, I figured you grew up getting knocked around or watching your mom get knocked around."

Watching the brunette draw her legs up into her chest and wrap her arms around her knees, Warrick added, "The whole knife in the gut thing adds a bit of a twist, but not a shock." Taking a sip, he finished with, "The only thing hearing you say the words does is make me admire the sheer guts it took to survive and thrive beyond it." With that, he poured the rest of his coffee down the drain, and headed out with a wave.

Warrick waited until he was on the way home before giving into the reaction. His hands shaking, he shut down the engine to the vehicle. By the time he turned the key to his house, he heard a vague buzzing in his ears. For two hours, he sat on the couch, letting the worst rush through him, forming and framing a thousand questions he knew he would never ask. He'd seen a lot of violence, and always associated it with _someone else_. This was Sara, though – not just a case or someone down the street.

Sara stared at Grissom for the longest time after Warrick left, before letting out the shuddering, "Oh."

"Are you okay?" Grissom asked, as she stood and placed her cup in the sink.

As she made her way toward him, she replied, "Yeah, I'm good." Wearily, she added, "But, I'm going to finish the DNA results, and head home. If you need to stay, I'll catch a ride with someone, but… I just need to finish the DNA reports and get out of here for awhile."

Passing him, Sara rubbed her knuckles across the back of his hand, as he whispered, "I don't need to stay."

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A/N – I hope you enjoyed. Thanks for reading. Review and let me know what you think! Thanks.


	28. Chapter 28

A/N – Another day, another chapter. I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know what you think. If anyone has an idea for another crime, let me know. I need to start thinking out a new case once this one is wrapped up. Please review. Thanks.

Disclaimer – CBS/Paramount, please don't sue me. This whole story is dedicated to David Rambo – the man who makes GSR possible, and is kind enough to talk to those who ask questions.

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Warrick caught up with Sara in Grissom's office a couple hours before shift start.

"Sara, can I talk to you?" he quietly asked from the doorway.

Grissom looked up from his papers and glanced over at his wife, sitting on the couch reading a report. "I'll be in the garage if you need me," he murmured, silently exiting.

Shutting the door, Warrick pulled up a chair in front of his colleague, and for a few moments tried to form his words. He'd had it planned out – what he wanted to say and what he needed to ask. All of it fled, leaving his mind vacant, so he simply stared.

When her chin raised a notch and her features shut down, he recognized the defiant posture from so many other times… and winced. It occurred to him she was waiting for an attack, and therefore simply… detached.

"I lied yesterday," he quietly said. "I lied when I said I wasn't shocked. I am shocked. I'm also pissed. I didn't realize how mad I could get for someone else."

Her face blank, Sara replied, "You don't need to be angry. It's the past."

"How can I not be?" Warrick retorted. "How can I just accept what happened to you and leave it alone? It makes so much more sense. I wasn't kidding when I said I recognized some of it in you, but Christ… it's real now."

"So?" Her tone becoming rebellious, she stood. "It makes me different? Do you understand I'm the same person? Or are you going to start treating me like someone else… like a defect?"

Standing as well, Warrick stared at her before he said, "Are you kidding? I said it makes more sense, and that I'm angry for you. I didn't say anything about you being any different."

Putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing, Warrick added, "Before you left, I told you that you were a tough cookie. I still believe that. It was a jolt to hear where you came from - the kind of life you had. If anything, I have a better idea of just how tough you can be."

The slight smile on her face and misting eyes had her barking out a laugh, "I'd really prefer none of you know. It's… humiliating. I hate pity."

"Yeah, well. You won't be getting any here, so suck it up," Warrick replied, grinning. "Look, I'm going to go grab a bite before shift. Wanna come?"

"Yeah. I would. Just let me grab my stuff from the locker room," she murmured. What she really needed was a few moments alone. Confusion warred with a feeling of being naked and exposed to the burning sun, as she made her way to gather her things. A sense of uncertainty overwhelmed her for a moment and she sat, took a few deep breaths, and resolutely made her way out the door to spend breakfast with a friend.

At shift start, everyone gathered in Grissom's office to get their assignments. Sara was finishing off some DNA analysis for a case belonging to Swing shift, and arrived late.

"Catherine, Nick, Wendy – I've got a B&E and a trick roll. Divide and conquer," Grissom said, handing the slips to Catherine. "Warrick, Greg – I want you to finish your analysis of the art we've currently got occupying the entire CSI garage. We're getting pressure from the other shifts to move it out, so they can use the room."

"Hey, Griss, I'd really like to be in on this case," Sara said, standing in his office doorway.

"Why?" Grissom asked.

"I have a vested interest," Sara bluntly stated, then smiled. "Plus, it's an interesting case," she added, and thought, _I'll get to work with my husband – watch his mind at work – get turned on by watching his mind at work – I miss that_.

Looking at Catherine, she said, "It won't get in the way of the DNA work. Right now, I'm waiting on parts to come in, so I can spare a little time from my research."

Grissom raised his eyebrows at Catherine for her input, and she replied, "It's fine with me if you're okay with it," to Grissom. Looking at Sara, she added, "I'll need you to report in with me before the end of each shift with what's going on, and if there are any problems, I need to know."

Nodding, Sara grinned at the other occupants of the room.

"If that's all, then let's head out," Grissom stated. "Warrick, Greg, Sara – Meet me in the garage in fifteen. Sara, I'd like to talk to you for a moment."

After everyone left, Sara closed the door.

"Are you okay?" he asked, and winced at that dreaded question.

Seeing the look on his face, she smiled. "Things are fine," and flinched at her own response. "Let me rephrase. Warrick and I talked – I think he's okay with it. I'm working on him being okay with it, but I'm not quite there yet."

"Good," he replied, and picked up a report. "Make sure your case load in DNA is clear. I'll meet you in the garage." After she left, he sat back in his chair… and worried. She'd had another nightmare. He was smart enough to recognize they reared when she was stressed or obsessing about the past. He prayed things got better, because at that moment, she was suffering for her necessary decisions. Picking up the folder again, he began reading through the monthly budget report, all the while thinking, _I'm going to get to work with Sara – watch her mind work – get turned on watching her mind work – I miss that._

Warrick and Greg got to the garage ten minutes before the others.

"You're kinda quiet, Rick," Greg said.

"Just thinking about something," Warrick replied, and sighed, "My mind keeps taking off on me."

"Anything you want to talk about?" Greg asked.

"Naw. It's just something Sara said," he replied and cringed. He hadn't meant to say that.

Greg stilled.

Standing in front of a painting, he quietly asked, "Did she tell you? About where she went when she was gone?" He didn't know if he'd regret the question or not, but Warrick's tone had prompted the asking.

Walking over, Warrick stood next to Greg, and quietly said, "She told me a lot of things she hadn't intended to, at least not yet. I don't know what she's said to you, so… I don't think I can repeat it. It's very personal to her."

"I read the transcript. The trial transcript. I know it all," the younger CSI murmured in response. "It was indefensible… the way she was treated."

Warrick nodded as he stepped back and walked over to another painting.

When Sara joined them a few minutes later, she could feel the tension in the room, and nearly physically recoiled. This was as difficult as she feared it would be, and ruthlessly uncomfortable. It was her greatest fear come true – that somehow they'd see her differently – that they'd start to be different around her – that she'd go back to being the freak she felt like growing up.

Grissom watched from the doorway, unobserved, as his wife fought for control. Invisible to others, he could feel waves of anxiety pour off her. It amazed him that she could disengage herself facial expressions and control her body language so well, when so much emotion radiated out, undetected. He stood witness to her quiet, confrontation.

"If you're going to act this way, I have to leave," she replied, matter-of-factly, as she examined yet another swirl painting, slashed diagonally. "I really don't want to. It's important that you know, because you may end up meeting my mother. When April comes back to intern, I have no doubt my mother will be visiting. You needed to hear it from me. I can't be treated different, though. It hurts too much."

"Hey, is there a pattern to the slashes?" she suddenly asked. "None of the paintings are cut the same way."

When she turned to look at Greg and Warrick, they looked at each other and back to her. Letting out a long breath, Warrick said, "You're okay, Sara. So are we." Greg peered quickly at her and turned back to the canvas in front of him.

Grissom walked into the room and curiously inquired, "What are you seeing?"

"You know how I love number and word games," she said. "You sent me a handheld Sudoku game and a jigsaw puzzle that turns into a crossword for Christmas." Murmuring as she walked from painting to painting, she added, "It's about patterns. This is a game about seeing a pattern and how it fits."

Turning to the three men, she asked, "Do you have pictures of all the paintings?"

Flipping over the rotating tack board, pictures of all thirty two paintings were pinned.

"Okay, let's put the puzzle together," Sara said, stepping forward, and removing all the photos. Making their way to the layout room, the four of them placed the pictures on a light table and looked at them.

"I think I see what you're doing," Greg said. Grabbing to pictures, he placed one on top of the other. "These were on different walls. However, look how this diagonal slash matches up to the diagonal slash of the picture above it." Grabbing another pictures, he placed it to the right of the top photo. "This one matches up, too."

Like kids in a toy store on Christmas eve, the four excited CSIs started handing pictures back and forth, piecing together bit by bit the slashes. An hour later, they stood back and looked at their work.

"Hand me the tape," Sara said, and taped together the five letters they had made out of the patterned cuts. A-D-F-U-R.

Grissom started shuffling the pieces around, until he spelled it out. "F-R-A-U-D," he said, raising his eyebrow. "Someone is sending a message. Who and why?"

"I think it's time we sat down with the gallery director," Grissom said, picking up his cell and punching some numbers.

That morning, Brass escorted Trent Davis into LVPD, where Grissom and Warrick waited to interrogate. Sara and Greg prepared to clock out for the day.

Knocking on Catherine's door, Sara entered when her supervisor smiled. Sitting across from Catherine, Sara waited until she was off the phone and said, "It went well today. We found a pattern in the slashes, and Grissom and Warrick are down at LVPD for an interview. I spent the last couple of hours in DNA running tests for Nick. I'm not leaving a backlog for the next shift."

Sitting back, Catherine studied the brunette, and said, "You know I trust your judgment and methodology. In all honesty, you don't need to give me accounts of your activities." Leaning forward, she lowered her eyes in thought and said, "I just need to know that you're okay at the end of the day. I won't have a repeat of the Hannah West case."

Nodding sharply, the smile dropped, and Sara replied, "All right," in an even voice.

It wasn't until Catherine said, "So, are you still up for coffee," that Sara even remembered their scheduled get together. Tensing, she steeled herself, letting the mask fall back into place out of habit, and said, "Yeah. I am."

Watching the show of emotions – or lack thereof – suddenly slam across Sara's features, Catherine had a feeling this wasn't just about hanging out, so she just said, "Meet me at my car in five."

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A/N – I work with statistics. Statistically speaking, the more reviews I get the faster I will write another chapter. Perhaps if I get enough reviews, I will have another chapter up tomorrow morning!


	29. Chapter 29

A/N – Okay, here's another chapter. Please let me know what you think. Also, I'm still open to same cases. Thank you to MoonlightGardenias and PiperG for your ideas. I like both of your ideas, and since this is kind of an ongoing project, may end up using them both. Thanks! Again, reviews and ideas are always appreciated.

Disclaimer – I'll write a decent disclaimer when CBS/Paramount gets me more episodes in Season 8.

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The drive to the coffee shop several miles away was tense. Catherine kept glancing as Sara clenched and unclenched her fist the entire way. _I doubt she even realizes she's doing it,_ Catherine thought. Finally pulling in, she smiled over at the brunette and said, "I hope you like this place. I discovered it a few weeks ago – they make the best lattes."

Meanwhile, at LVPD, Grissom and Brass sat in an interrogation room with Trent Davis, while Warrick watched from the one-way mirror.

"Mr. Trent," Brass began, "would like to explain who thinks of you or the artist as a fraud?"

Scrunching his face, Davis replied, "No one, of course. I'm just an art gallery director."

"Then who thinks of Billy Gaunt's work as fraudulent?" Grissom asked. "Because whoever committed this crime went to great lengths to make sure he or she got our attention."

Pulling out the pictures of the destroyed art work, Grissom laid out the pattern for the art director. "Now that you understand the context, perhaps you can explain it," Grissom casually requested. "From the statement you gave us earlier, the former Mr. Gaunt had no enemies, the gallery has no enemies, and you have no enemies."

Maneuvering his way behind Davis, Brass said, "I just don't see how that's possible, Mr. Davis. Someone obviously thinks very low of you or Mr. Gaunt. Very low." Leaning in low, Brass lowered his voice and said, "So, I want you to really think about it, while we step out, Davis. Think hard, because you're not telling us something."

Making their way toward the door, Grissom exited, while Brass turned back and said, "I'll be back in a bit. I just hope you remember something, or I might have to put you in jail for Obstruction."

Standing outside the interrogation room, Brass signaled for an officer to watch the door, telling him, "We'll be back in twenty minutes. If he tries to leave, let me know."

"He's not under arrest and we have no reason to keep him. Do you think he'll try to leave?" Warrick asked as they headed toward Jim Brass's office.

"Naw," he replied grimly. "I don't think he's got the guts. This guy comes across like someone who would be afraid of any kind of trouble."

"So where does that leave us?" Warrick wondered aloud.

"It leaves us with an incomplete story, and after he stews for a bit, maybe we'll get a more complete picture," Brass responded.

It was hours later when Grissom made his way through the front door. Tired, he dropped his jacket over a chair – a rarity for him – and made his way to the bedroom, expecting to find his wife, and instead found the dog panting on the end of the bed.

"Where's mommy?" he murmured, and Hank took off, leading him around the house, and eventually to the patio.

Sliding the glass door open, Grissom took the chair next to Sara, and glanced over at her.

"What's up?"

Opening her mouth to reply, she shook her head, and shut it again. Blowing out a breath, she tried once again to voice the turmoil running through her, only to lean forward and hang her head over her knees.

"I don't know what to say," she blew out on a soft whisper. As he studied her, she sat up ramrod straight, letting her head hang, and stretched her back. Turning her head toward him, her hair fell like a veil between them, and she the barely audible, "She already knew," had Grissom frowning. He didn't have a clue what Sara was talking about.

"Who knew what?" he questioned.

"Catherine. We went out for coffee, and she already knew," Sara sharply rejoined. Closing her eyes, she apologized with, "I'm sorry. That was harsh, and you don't deserve it."

The cold now seeping into the jacketless Grissom, he sat back in his chair. He'd forgotten about the coffee Sara had already planned with Catherine… and the content of the discussion.

His brow furrowed, Grissom wondered, "How did she find out?"

On a humorless laugh, Sara answered, "Well, figuring it out apparently wasn't that hard. She hadn't known about us – our relationship. After I left she wanted to know what would draw me back to San Francisco and away from you. So she decided to be more proactive." Moving her hair behind her ear, she took comfort in the warmth of her husband's eyes when she added, "I'm not the only one that looked up my mother's records."

"She was out of line," Grissom commented. He knew what she needed to face, and felt ineffectual. There was little help he could offer.

"To tell you the truth, I probably would have done the same thing," Sara commented. For the first time since he sat down, she got a good look at her husband, and her eyes opened wide. "For crying out loud, Gil – it's winter. You're not wearing your coat. You must be freezing."

Standing, she held out her hand, and he took it.

Settling on the couch, Gil watched her shed her coat and toss it over the recliner. He took it as a good sign when she lay out on the couch and placed her head in his lap. As his fingers toyed with the strands of her hair, he asked, "How did you react?"

"Before or after I yelled at her?" She watched him wince. On a mirthless laugh, she added, "Yeah. That's my current reaction, too. I got a little emotional, Gil. Can you imagine that?" A tear welled and spilled over, running down her temple into her hair, where he brushed it with his thumb.

Optimistically, he stated, "At least you weren't at work."

"Yeah," she murmured. Taking a deep breath, she stated, "If it's okay, I think I'd rather hear about the interview you had with Davis right now," she said. When he looked like he was about to protest at her change of subject, she raised her hand to his lips and softly added, "I'm still processing and really need to think of something else for the moment."

Grinning, he bit a finger, and said, "Okay."

Grissom explained about confronting Davis with the photos, and about Brass's plan to let him stew for awhile.

"So, we stepped away for fifteen to twenty minutes. When we walked back into the room, I thought Davis was going to jump out of his skin," Grissom said, thinking back to the moment.

"Brass very quietly asked if he'd suddenly remembered anything. Davis came through rather rapidly with two names," Grissom told her. "Our artist, Billy Gaunt, has two siblings – a brother named James and a sister, Isabella. The gallery director is representing the brother, who was given the bulk of his brother's estate in Billy Gaunt's will."

"So… the sister is holding a grudge?" Sara asked.

"Actually, she's not," Grissom replied. "From what Davis said, she's level headed. When the will was read, she was given the pick of four of her brother's paintings. She could have chosen the most expensive ones. Instead, she chose four of his earliest paintings, worth less than two hundred thousand, combined."

"Where does that leave us?" Sara murmured, lost in thought.

"We've requested an interview with the brother. The sister is currently in Seattle visiting friends. She's scheduled to be back the day after tomorrow. We're hoping to speak with them both then."

"What I don't get is why Davis didn't just tell you about James and Isabella Gaunt to begin with," Sara said, thoughtfully.

"Apparently, Davis is the kind of person who is terrified James Gaunt will take his business elsewhere. I think he's afraid of what's going to happen. He hadn't even called Gaunt to let him know the vandalism had occurred," Grissom replied. Tilting his head back, he suddenly felt the fatigue of the long day starting to take its toll.

When Sara murmured, "I shouldn't have yelled at her," and let out a heavy sigh, Grissom just waited, continuing to stroke his hand through her hair.

"It was a shock," she admitted. "I feel like I have no control over who knows what about me anymore, and it scares me that I'll go back to feeling… ashamed and overwhelmed." Sitting up, she leaned into him, and whispered, "I can't change what I never had a chance to control, but I can't take the feeling that I'll lose the world I've created here."

On a trembling voice, Sara confessed, "I don't know what to feel right now, because I'm so tired."

Pulling her up, until she lay across his chest, he said, "I wish there was more I could do."

"If you could just hold me," she answered, as the tears began to flow, and the heavy fatigue she'd felt the past few days overwhelmed her, drowning out all else.

Eyes closed, he hugged her to him, feeling the urgency in her responding embrace, until the tears faded and sleep overtook her. When less than an hour later the screams broke from her throat and she thrashed, he pinned her down until his voice woke her, and he held her again through the next round of sobs.

Eventually, they made it to the bedroom, where sleep skittered around her, leaving her tired and aching when they eventually rose to prepare for shift.

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A/N – See? I told you the more reviews I get the faster I write. It's a strange anomaly, isn't it! So… if you write even MORE reviews, who knows. I might just get another chapter up tonight!


	30. Chapter 30

A/N – Okay, I had fun writing this. Thanks Moo Marie for your ideas on this! To everyone who's been reading this monstrosity, thank you for the feedback. I very much appreciate it.

Disclaimer – I don't own anything except the strange ideas coming out of my head.

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_I should have called in sick,_ Sara decided, after fueling up on another cup of coffee, and making her way back to her lab. Wishing she'd eaten something more substantial than a granola bar for breakfast, she stared at the blurring monitor. Within minutes, her lids began to shut, and shaking herself awake, she took a sip of coffee.

Catherine let herself into Sara's lab ten minutes before shift, wondering why she wasn't already assembled with the rest, waiting for assignments. She found Sara, her head on her arms, asleep at the desk. Taking a moment, she studied the brunette, taking in the pallid skin, and deep circles under her eyes.

"Sara," she quietly said, gently nudging her shoulder. "Wake up."

"Huh?" Sara's head snapped up, bleary eyes looking around, until they connected with Catherine's. "Oh crap."

A quick glance at the clock, she quickly maneuvered out of her chair, and started towards the door, yawning, "Sorry. I'm late. Sorry." Grabbing her clipboard, she stopped before opening the door. Turning back, she steeled herself.

"Catherine. I'm sorry about what I said yesterday," Sara stated. Watching her supervisor casually lean against the desk, she added, "I was out of line."

Smirking, Catherine replied, "I can understand being mad. I probably would have been at first, too." Studying Sara, Catherine considered her next words before saying, "I can accept the yelling, although calling me a 'bitch' was a little too much."

"Yeah. Sorry about that."

"Look, Sara… I can't imagine what you've had to go through. I'm not sure I'd want to," Catherine said. "I hadn't really realized the affect you have on Grissom until you were gone. I watched him revert to something unhealthy – the old workaholic Grissom that questioned his ability to connect with people. He was working doubles constantly – sometimes triples. I hadn't realized the affect you had on each other, which is why I told him to go after you."

Frowning, Sara asked, "When did you do that?"

"A week after you left," Catherine replied. "He said you wouldn't want that, and that he wanted you to be happy." Taking a step toward Sara, Catherine said, "I wanted to know what was so important that the two of you were willing to let it rip you up. I won't apologize for it. Just do one thing." Standing toe-to-toe with the brunette, Catherine stared into the brown eyes before saying, "If you feel it is going to affect your work on a case, let me know in advance. Otherwise, continue to work as you have."

Opening the door, Catherine began to step out, but not before leaning in and whispering, "If you really think any of it changes the work you do and the person you are, then you're just stupid."

Stunned, Sara sat back at her desk for a moment and stared at the open door. A thousand thoughts began to rapid fire through her mind, the first being, _Catherine knew and still trusts my judgment_, and the last being, _Oh crap, I'm late_.

Jumping from her chair, Sara launched herself down the hall, and found everyone in the break room, muttering "Sorry I'm late" as she took a chair.

"Catherine, Warrick – Meet Brass behind the Mirage. He's got a 419. Nick – Introduce Wendy to our latest decomp, and stop groaning. Greg, I want you and Sara going through the hand prints," Grissom ordered. "I've got more paperwork."

Between being pulled back and forth between the DNA lab and simply not finding anything, Sara was thrilled when shift ended. She'd processed a dozen or so samples for Catherine and Warrick, and had not even heard from Nick and Wendy yet.

"Griss," she said in a rough voice, walking past him in the hall, "When are you heading home?"

Looking at the stack of paperwork he needed to deliver, he replied, "As soon as I drop these off."

Parking in the garage, Grissom looked at his wife, and hated that he had to wake her. Running his hand down her cheek, he murmured, "We're home," and felt her stir.

Stumbling into the bedroom, Sara barely made it to the bed. Grissom found her a few minutes later – her knees on the floor, leaned face-down on the bed, with her arms sprawled out and her face smashed into the covering, sound asleep. Pulling back the covering, he maneuvered the groaning woman onto the bed, removing her shoes, and laying the sheet and blanket over her. A short shower later, he joined her, smiling when she rolled in her sleep to fit herself to him.

The whimpering gasps brought him fully alert this time. Before her arms could strike out at an invisible monster, he pinned them to her side and laid his head next to her ear, whispering, "You're okay. You're okay. You're okay," until she gave a soft sigh and slept on.

Waking after nearly twelve hours of sleep, she felt groggy and disoriented… and amazingly rested for a change.

"Hey," he said from the doorway. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah," she smiled in response.

"We have the night off," he casually mentioned, and she raised her eyes to peer into his.

"How did you manage that?"

"In case you've forgotten, this is a scheduled night off for you," Grissom reminded her, grinning. The grin growing into a smile, he added, "I scheduled myself to have at least one common night off – it's a benefit of being a supervisor."

"Feeling powerful, are we?" she asked, leering at him. "Would you like me to show you the benefit of being the wife?"

Several hours later, Grissom finally stirred to find Sara staring down at him, her fingers tracing his lips. "Hey," he grinned, leaning up to collect a kiss.

Catching sight of the clock, he gave into a moment of panic and sputtered, "It's afternoon already." Looking around at the wreck they'd made in their bedroom, he lurched from the bed, and opened the closet. Before he began rummaging through his clothes, he looked at Sara and said, "I'm a glutton for punishment. Will you go to dinner with me?"

Laughing, she flopped back onto the bed. "Yes."

Making her way to her own closet, she slid open the door and examined the array of dresses held within. The mood of the day making her feel just a bit wicked, she glanced at her husband and said, "I'm going to take a shower," pulled down the dress, and quietly slinked into the bathroom.

By the time she emerged nearly an hour later, he'd abandoned the bedroom for the living room. She found him sitting on the couch, watching Discovery.

"Will this do?" she asked, her voice low and husky.

Smiling, he strolled to her and held out his hand. Slowly spinning her, he got a good look at the deep green sleeveless dress. The backless creation draped over her curves, with only an inch wide strap around the neck holding up the fitted front. Placing her in front of him, he said, "You're beautiful," then whispered something so completely out of character, he surprised himself, and made her shiver. "You're mine," he murmured, wrapping a hand possessively around her waist, until it rested on her abdomen. For a moment, eyes closed, he simply held.

Helping her into her coat, he escorted her to the car and held the door.

"So, where are we going?" she asked, watching the lights of the strip go past.

"It's a surprise," he said, and smiled. Pulling up in valet parking at the Venetian, he exchanged his keys for a ticket, as Sara laid her hand through his arm. The sun still shined, but it began to hover over the horizon, and she sighed.

Many of the casinos had high-end restaurants, and she looked forward to seeing what her husband had planned. Making their way through the hotel arm-in-arm, Sara smiled as they approached an acclaimed Italian restaurant.

"I believe you have reservations for Gil Grissom," he murmured to the hostess. Smiling at the couple, the young woman said, "Yes, sir. If you'll follow me," and led them to a quiet setting at a table toward the back of the restaurant. There, the tables were designed for intimacy and privacy.

When the waiter moved to assist Sara with her coat, Grissom smiled and stepped in, standing behind her as she let the garment slide down her arms. Handing the jacket to the waiter, he held out her chair, leaned over her shoulder and felt her tremble when his breath hit her bare shoulder with, "Thank you for having dinner with me."

Taking the seat next to her, they were handed their menus. When she reached over and laid her hand over his on the table, they smiled into each others eyes. Leaning toward him, she whispered, "This is wonderful."

A few moments later a young man that looked to be in his late twenties was quietly seated in the table next to theirs. Grissom approved of the seating, as the young man was faced away from them.

Leaning into one another, Sara whispered, "I love you, Gil," and leaned into him. "It feels like a dream," she murmured. When he grinned and said, "Tonight is about letting ourselves have our heart's desire, Sara," her smile widened. Stimulated by the heady scent of her soap and shampoo… and her… he leaned down and –

The crash pretty much ruined the moment. The group of several girls was currently walking and talking their way around the maitre'd, past the sommelier, and dodging around the server carrying pitchers of water. Unfortunately, that's how the glass of wine intended for another table ended up pouring down Sara's back.

Looking at Grissom with a horrific sense of dread, she murmured, "Please tell me that wasn't red wine." The wince was confirmation enough.

The teenagers didn't seem to even notice the disaster they were creating, as they made their way nearly over the top of Grissom to get to the man behind him. As hands were waved and more and more kids made their way over, several staff members worked to eject them. However, it didn't seem to be working, and the young man finally turned around and smiled to the growing group.

"Please, if you'll go stand outside the restaurant, I'll be out there immediately," he murmured in a deep voice.

As quickly as the rush had started, it seemed to recede.

"Honey, I think your dress is ruined," Grissom said, running his hand over her back. "It could be worse," he continued, "it seems to be a good dry red wine, so it wasn't chilled. A chilled wine would've been a bit of a shock, don't you think? You know what else? You could be at a crime scene dressed like this. Can you imagine the comments?"

The young man watched the couple – taking in the woman's heaving shoulders. Every time her companion said something, the shoulders shook more, and he couldn't understand why the man would torment her like that. Frowning, he opened his mouth to say something, when the brunette raised her head and laughter filled the air.

Grinning, Grissom cocked his head to the side, and cupped her cheek. "I'm telling you… we need to stick to Frank's." Laughing even harder, Sara stood and looked at the back and side of her dress where the wine had taken the tumble. When he hugged her close, he added, "Maybe a picnic at home… we can get dressed up and have dinner in the living room with the dog."

Turning to the hostess, who stood on the perimeter watching them, Sara asked, "Could you get our coats, please? I think we're done for the evening." When the server began to hold her coat out for her, Grissom shook it from his hands and helped her into it himself. Turning her around, he hugged her close and whispered, "I'm sorry it didn't work out, Sara."

"That's all right, Gil. We have the whole night ahead, but… let's go home so we can change." Smiling, she gave him a quick peck on the cheek, put her arm through his, and they started their way through the restaurant.

It wasn't until they reached the entrance that the hostess caught up to them again, yelling, "Sir. Sir. Mr. Grissom."

Turning, he asked, "Did we forget something?"

Flushed, the woman said, "No. Nothing like that. The man you were sitting next to feels it was his fault your evening was ruined, and wants to invite you to the club for the show tonight." Thrusting out her hand, she gave them an envelope. "Please present this at the club in ninety minutes. It has a note that will provide all you need for the rest of the evening."

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A/N – I hope you liked it. Please let me know! Thanks to everyone who has sent me such kind words.


	31. Chapter 31

A/N – Wow. I am overwhelmed with the response I got from the last chapter. It all started with the idea of giving Sara and Gil a break… letting them have a fantasy date. Of course, if you read Chapter 3, you remember the curse. Here's hoping the rest of their night off goes a little better…

One little hint… it ties back to the beginning of the story (keep in mind I rewrote the first chapter on December 21st, so if you read it early on, you might want to go back).

Disclaimer – I've run out of witty disclaimers. HELP!

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The drive home was filled with sneaking glances, smiles, and short burst of laughter. Grissom wasn't all that thrilled with the turn of events, but couldn't help but smile when Sara's chuckles resounded through the vehicle.

In their bedroom, Sara looked at the clock and said, "We can still have our fantasies tonight. Our evening doesn't have to end." Holding up the envelope, she curiously asked, "Are you interested or do you want to go ahead and call it a night?"

Seeing the hope in her eyes, he easily smiled and murmured, "First, let's get you out of this dress, and then let's go ahead and go to this performance." Scowling slightly, he said, "I know I've heard the voice before, but I couldn't place it. I haven't got a clue what we'll be seeing."

"How long do we have before we need to leave?" Sara asked, hastily reaching back to release the clasp behind her neck that held the dress up.

"About forty minutes," he murmured in response, running his hands enticingly up her sides until her head tilted back on a moan. She was having trouble unhooking the dress, so his hands took the place of hers, and her arms gradually fell. Drawing her into a kiss, he unclasped the dress, watching the bodice slide, leaving her exposed and his eyes devouring. "So damn beautiful," he said on a wicked glance, "My fantasy."

With abrupt impatience, his suit was ruthlessly thrown next to the dress in a sudden rush of need, and he joined her, enjoying the moment that turned from heated to raging, like a stolen instant in time – seeking and finding. When he claimed her, murmuring words of passion and possession, they fell rapidly, awash in emotion. For the second time, he whispered into her ear those words that occasionally wrapped him up but he never uttered but in his fantasies, "You're mine."

After… when they held, she turned to him and whispered, "You succeeded – you gave me my heart's desire, Gil."

Stretching languidly, she rolled out of bed, and grinned. Playfully, she pulled him up after her, swatting at his roaming hands before he said, "Wait." When he turned her around, his eyes flared and he drank her in again. "I want to see what I have." Wrapping her arms around him, she smiled, kissed his chin, and whispered, "You can have a lifetime to look, honey."

While they dressed, they snuck indiscreet looks, feeling giddy. In their normal clothes, they made their way back to the Venetian and the club indicated. When Grissom frowned, Sara smiled, "Think of it as an adventure. If nothing else, the evening has been eventful."

Tugging him to the door, she handed the host the envelope.

"Please wait here," the man dressed in all black murmured.

Within moments, the same man from the ill-fated dinner at the restaurant stood in front of them. Apologetically, he said, "I'm truly sorry for ruining your evening. You were obviously there for a romantic dinner. I'm happy you are letting me make it up to you."

At their confused looks, he added, "I get fans of all ages, and I don't mind signing autographs, but the restaurant seemed to be a good place to be able to just sit quietly for awhile before the performance. I really hadn't intended fans to overrun the place."

Looking over to someone waving, he said, "I have to go." Signaling the host, he stated, "He'll show you to the VIP lounge. You'll have it to yourself for the evening."

Walking away, he looked back over his shoulder and smiled, "I hope you enjoy the show."

Making their way up the stairs to the private balcony room, Grissom grunted, "I didn't look at the posters coming in. I _still_ don't have a clue who he is."

Sara smiled and replied, "I don't want to know." Looking into his blue eyes, she murmured, "Let is be a surprise."

The spacious private room had one wall open toward the stage. Set back from the balcony railing, a couch was angled to look directly toward where the performance would occur. Behind the couch, a few feet from the door, a table lay set for two. A candle glowed as the host dimmed the lights and murmured, "Your waiter will be here shortly," before closing the door behind him.

Smiling at him, Sara said, "Relax, baby," and he smirked, "Yes, dear."

Menus in hand, they discussed the options, and the waiter took their orders, silently leaving them alone. Sitting next to one another, she leaned into him, as his arm wrapped around her. They barely heard the door snick open and the waiter enter with their drinks.

"To us," she said, raising her glass, and he smiled tenderly.

"Thank you for tonight," he responded, nuzzling her neck in the privacy of their small suite. Grinning, he continued, "Most women would have given up on me. You don't."

"I can't," she whispered, her eyes closing as she tilted her head into the crook of his neck, "I could never give up on you – you're too much a part of me."

When the waiter arrived with their food, they took a moment to savor and enjoy the solitude and quiet. Background noise faded away, and together they felt cocooned in time and space. Everything in the "real world" forgotten, they enjoyed their food, their conversation, and the warmth they took and gave to one another.

"We are, each of us, our own person, with our own interests. I often barely speak to you in the course of the day, and I'm okay with that," Sara said. "But this is nice. I forget how much I like to just be with you."

Smiling in response, "I understand. I enjoy your company, as well, my dear."

As their meal ended, they made their way to the couch. It was smartly placed, as it provided full view of the stage, but was set back into the dimly lit room, allowing for privacy, intimacy, and seclusion. Tucked into a corner, Grissom pulled Sara against him, as the squalls of tuning instruments reached them. Within moments, the young man from the restaurant took center stage to the screams of the crowd below.

Picking up a guitar, he played, and Sara groaned, "Oh, dear God, he plays country music." When she looked at Grissom and saw his resigned look, she chuckled and said, "We'll give it a few songs and see how we feel, all right?"

It was the third song that convinced her to stay, and reminded Grissom of where he'd heard the voice before. The song had played in the car bringing Sara home. He'd watched her face as it reverberated through the vehicle, and had been enthralled by the range of emotions that had crossed her features. He hadn't asked, but he'd wondered what must have been running through her mind.

As the tune was sung, Sara turned her head to her husband and said, "I should tell him I disagree. The longer the waiting, the more desperate the kiss." Leaning up into him, she whispered above his lips, "This is the sweetest kiss," and let her senses guide. Eventually pulling apart, she leaned her head back on his shoulder.

Watching his wife's face, seeing the swollen lips, and feeling nearly overwhelmed, he whispered, "Such is my love, to thee I so belong / That for thy right myself will bear all wrong." When she looked up at him with misty eyes, he leaned his forehead into hers and whispered, "I truly love you, Mrs. Grissom." Together, they let the music of the night overtake them.

As the walked out to the car, Sara practically danced in front, tugging her husband along. "That wasn't as painful as I thought it would be," she laughed. Sobering instantly, she looked into his eyes and said, "Gil, we can't ever tell Nick. He'll insist we listen to country music on the way to every crime scene."

He watched with delight when she spun before entering the car. Tilting her head back, she closed her eyes and said, "At least we know who the performer is now." Unwrapping the album she'd bought, she popped it into the CD player as Grissom reached over and directed the equipment to a specific track. When the lyrics of _Firecracker_ began to play, Sara smiled.

"Don't tell Nick I like this song," Grissom grunted, "I don't want to have to explain why it reminds me of you." _I don't want to have to explain to him your performance in bed._

"I'll need to be bribed, Gil" she replied playfully.

"Oh… I think I can manage that, Sara."

Not wanting to totally disrupt their sleep schedule, they ended up staying awake until mid-morning, playing scrabble, taking Hank for a couple of walks, and bantering about evidence collection techniques. Finally laying in bed, Sara rolled into her husband, and sighed, "Tonight, it's back to the grind."

When all she received was a grunt in response, she kissed his cheek, whispered, "Good night," and fell into a dreamless sleep for the first time in days.

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A/N – Okay, I don't own the performer in question. He never said what I have him saying here. I just needed him for the sake of the story. I hope he doesn't mind. If he does, I hope he doesn't sue me. Actually, I portray him as being nice.

Figured it out yet? If you have and you've never listened to his music, listen to the latest album. The man has a voice that will melt frozen butter. He's got this rich, deep voice that makes me a bit weak at the knees… great fantasizing music. grin

The quote is from Shakespeare's Sonnet 88.

The Venetian really is a hotel in Vegas. I'm dying to stay there one day. I usually end up at the Excalibur, though. I'm hoping they don't sue me, either. Hopefully.


	32. Chapter 32

A/N – Thank you everyone so much for the reviews I have gotten. I'm really glad you've been enjoying this. And I'm thrilled everyone enjoyed the bit of fluff from the last chapter. –sigh– Isn't a little GSR fluff nice? LOL

Disclaimer – Since the lawyers are probably currently watching the presidential debates, I'm hoping they don't have time to sue me.

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By wordless agreement, Sara and Grissom didn't go into work early, opting to extend their rare time together as long as possible. Grabbing the nightly assignments and a new journal from his box, Grissom began reading through the slips, as Sara eyed the journal and plucked it from his hand. When his head whipped up and he glared, she smirked, waved, and said, "See you later, Griss."

Making his way to his office, Grissom read through the four slips. It was going to be a busy night. Running through the typical pre-shift routine, he stopped off to find Sara digging through some electronics equipment in the research lab. "Assignments," he said, smiling. "Are you coming?"

Placing some copper wiring onto her desk, Sara grinned back and said, "Yes, Gilbert."

Walking down the hall together, Sara handed him back his journal with, "There's an interesting article on the Rhetus periander. You might be interested, since it's one of the rare butterflies that will feed off dead animals." Smiling, she murmured, "Plus, it's beautiful."

Turning into the break room, they were met by several the team milling about. Greg – being Greg – grinningly stated, "So… you and Sara had the same night off. What did you do? Take her to the cockroach races?"

A stern set look on his face, Grissom merely replied, "No."

Laughing, Catherine looked at Nick, then to Grissom, and said, "As long as you didn't try to go out on a romantic date again," and Sara dropped her cup, yelping, "Crap." Eyes wide, Catherine looked between Grissom and Sara and back again, her mouth going wide, "Oh my God, you did!" Sara's frown confirmed the outcome, and Catherine stared at the brunette.

"Yeah, well… the curse and all," Sara mumbled, rinsing out the coffee cup and refilling it.

"Our personal life outside of work is off limits," Grissom warned in a low voice, and set down to business, "Catherine, Nick – You have a DB in Henderson. Wendy – There's another DB, only this one is on the strip. I'll take it with you." Smirking, he continued, "Greg – I've got a decomp with your name all over it. Warrick – You've got a domestic. I also need you at PD by eight o'clock to interview James and Isabella Gaunt."

"Mind if I watch?" Sara asked, then clarified, "The interview… do you mind if I ride over for it?"

Catherine shrugged, _fine by me_, and Grissom said, "Sure."

Everyone heading out, Sara made her way down to DNA, only to have Judy intercept her. "You've got a package," the receptionist informed her, and Sara followed her to the lobby, where two medium size boxes waited. Looking at the return address, Sara grinned. When Warrick attempted to pass her, Sara grabbed him and handed over a box. "Carry that," she directed him, and grabbed the other one herself, expecting him to follow.

Placing the boxes on her work bench, she distractedly waved, "Bye Rick," and began tearing in. Grinning, she pulled out several small circuit boards and laid them out carefully, examining the resistors, capacitors, and chipsets.

Shift went by quickly. Sara ended up with several hours in her lab before being paged to run DNA analysis for anyone. While she had to interrupt her progress in order to do her job, she made phenomenal progress on the V/R gear. The software team that had assembled to write the communications code had come through, and Sara managed to progress all the way to basic binary testing.

Grissom found her there. Her headphones blaring, he smirked, because she hadn't heard his ring tone echo through the secured lab. _Perfect chance to watch_, he mused. Standing over the work bench, Sara's hips swayed to the music, until she suddenly spun, intent on a tool, and her eyes collided with his. Grinning, he stepped in and shut the door.

Dropping the IPod on her desk, Sara grinned hugely and started laughing, "Check it out!"

Grabbing the chunks of metal strapped together, wires protruding from small circuit boards, she plugged a cable arching out into the computer's COM port. "It's rough, but I've got input and output." Bringing up a screen, she hit a button on the side of the metal mess, and watched as zeroes and ones flashed.

"Binary test," he murmured, pulling on his glasses and examining the monitor.

Pulling him into a dancing hug, she grinned, "And you have no idea what it says."

Grinning ruefully, he replied, "You're right, my dear. However, I am here on another matter altogether." At her quizzical look, he added, "The interview. We need to leave. Warrick is meeting us there."

While Brass and Grissom prepared to interview Billy Gaunt's siblings, Warrick and Sara sat in hard plastic chairs in the hallway. "So, how was the domestic?" Sara lightly asked, wishing she hadn't, but driven to ask anyway.

"The wife beats up the husband on a regular basis. He's finally pressing charges," Warrick replied. Watching his friend for a moment, he finally sat back and asked, "Is it easier if it's the wife beating up the husband?"

Hesitatingly, Sara finally raised her eyes to Warrick's, and found none of what she expected. They held no pity or compassion, but curiosity.

"Actually, no," she replied. "When violence becomes the norm, it really doesn't matter who is doing the beating. The reality is some kids living with extreme violence don't expect one or the other parent to survive. Some kids probably don't expect to survive themselves."

"Did you expect to survive?" he asked, plunging Sara into something she didn't want to think about. She was thankful when Brass and Grissom walked up.

"I'll be taking them to interview room three," Brass said, continuing down the hall to the lobby. Everyone took their positions as James and Isabella Gaunt made their way to the table, sitting on the metal and plastic chairs provided.

From outside the room, Sara studied the man and woman who sat at the table. He appeared to be in his early thirties, a few years older than her. Both of them could be described as attractive, with nearly black hair and startling green eyes. "I met Billy Gaunt at a small gallery five years ago," Sara said. "I love his art, and I ended up buying mine at that gallery opening." Turning her head to Warrick, she said, "He and his brother look very alike."

Back in the interview room, Brass and Grissom took their seats across from the Gaunts.

"I want to thank you for coming," Brass said. "This is Gil Grissom, forensics supervisor."

"We're happy to help in any way we can," James said, "but please call me Jim."

Reaching out, his sister smiled, and said, "I'm Bella to anyone who knows me," and Brass shook her hand.

Brass looked at the two and asked, "So… I take it Mr. Davis spoke with you?"

Nodding, Jim said, "Yes, Trent finally got around to telling me about what happened." Clenching his hands, the anger in Jim Gaunt seemed to hum around him when he quietly stated, "Mr. Davis has been fired, and will no longer be running the gallery." Letting out a calming breath, he sat back and continued, "Luckily, that was not all of Billy's work. However, it was some of his best."

"What can we do to help?" Bella asked.

"Could you answer a few questions?" Grissom asked, and continued at their nods, "Did either of you assist in hanging the paintings or designing the layout?"

"Actually, we both did," Jim replied, "although Bella did more than I."

"I would like to take your fingerprints to compare against the prints we found in the gallery," Grissom stated. "If you do not object, I would also like to collect DNA from you."

Bristling, Jim leaned forward and quietly asked, "Why?"

"We found blood at the scene, and would like to eliminate you and your sister as the source," Grissom replied.

Nonchalantly, Brass added, "Davis gave us his DNA easily enough – he certainly wanted to do whatever he could to help."

"Well of course we'll let you take our DNA," Bella interjected, ignoring Jim's glare. "Just tell us what we need to do." Looking to her brother, her eyes growing brighter, she said, "We will do whatever you need us to do in order to solve this." Her eyes suddenly misting, she murmured, "The thought of selling his work was painful, but this… this attack was atrocious."

Smiling gently, Grissom softly said, "Thank you, Bella. Your cooperation is appreciated."

Warrick collected the samples from the Gaunts, and Brass escorted them out the door. The four of them sat around the interview table, discussing the case. "I'll be able to eliminate their DNA tonight," Sara said. "Warrick and I will head back to the lab and drop these off."

Looking at her husband, she tilted her head, _Are you coming back to the office?_ and he nodded in reply, _Of course, I'll be there to take you home_.

With the interview behind her, Sara's mind turned back to her conversation earlier with Warrick as he drove the twenty minutes back to the lab. He'd asked a question – she'd evaded. Right then, she felt like a coward.

She'd left her husband and home to fight her demons, and lay them to rest – stop the haunting of her life. She knew she would never feel truly comfortable discussing her past, she recognized that she couldn't hide from it – not anymore.

"You asked me a question earlier. You asked if I expected to survive," she said, as matter-of-factly as she possibly could when he stopped at a red light. Once he looked over, she caught his gaze, and answered, "There were times I wished I hadn't."

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A/N – Hello? This is CSIGeekFan. I can't come to the phone right now. Please hit the Review button and leave me a message. Thank you.


	33. Chapter 33

A/N – Okay, here's an extraordinarily short chapter. I wrote it only half awake and not really thinking about it.

Disclaimer – Chapters this short don't need them. Period.

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Reading through the reports for the fifth time in as many minutes as she walked rapidly down the hall, Sara didn't see Ecklie before slamming right into him.

"Watch where you're going, Sidle," he snarled, before pausing and correcting, "Grissom." Shaking his head and walking around her, he stopped and scowled, "Tell Gil I'm looking for him." Matching the look on his face, Sara mumbled, "Fine. If _you_ see him, let him know I have DNA results."

The break room was filled with laughter, as Nick and Warrick kicked back on the couch, each holding a Playstation controller. Sitting at the table next to Wendy, Sara heard the newest addition to the team ask, "Are they always like that?" as the two men began trash talking. "Pretty much," Sara replied, smiling, and thinking back to all the times she walked in to find 'the boys' playing games, watching sports, or bragging about their exploits.

Shaking herself from her reverie, Sara playfully grinned at Wendy, walked over, and stood directly in front of Warrick and Nick.

"Move, Sara," Nick ordered, trying to see around her. "You're blocking my view."

"Come on, Sar. Out of the way," Warrick's hand reached out to shove her aside, but she wasn't budging.

When the loud crash from the TV was followed by those low tones of defeat, they knew they'd both just died.

"I have the reports, Warrick," Sara smiled, handing him the sheets of paper.

After a long glare, he finally started reading through them. Sara could tell the moment he made the connection, as his head whipped up, he blinked rapidly a few times, and read through the results yet again. Finally meeting her gaze, he asked, "Is there someone else, then? Another brother or an uncle?"

"There is a great-uncle, but he lives in Ireland and is in his eighties," Grissom stated. Flipping open the case file, he amended, "eighty two to be precise." Reading through the DNA results handed to him by Warrick, Grissom's eyes flared surprise and Sara watched him take it in, and lose himself in thought. Eventually turning back to the others, Grissom said, "We need to know if the Gaunts are lying to us or if they really don't know that somewhere out there they have a relative."

Days later, they decided it was Wendy who broke the case wide open, when she asked a very simple question...


	34. Chapter 34

A/N – Okay… I realized about the third page that I started off with one detective, went into fluff mode, and came out the other side with another. LOL. I put a small explanation in there (as I HATE inconsistency in my stories, although I know it happens). Sorry for any confusion.

Disclaimer – Okay… so longer chapters do deserve a disclaimer. Hence, I disclaim any ownership – blah blah blah.

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Grissom and Brass stood on Jim Gaunt's impressive doorstep at eight thirty that morning, waiting for someone to answer. Looking at the etched marble and expansive porch on the colonial home, Brass muttered, "I've been doing a little background. His father was in oil. When the parents died ten years ago, they left the three siblings – James, William, and Isabella – a mint."

"Detective Brass. Mr. Grissom. Please, come in," he greeted, a note of surprise on his face. Standing back, he invited them in with a sweep of his hand. Leading them to the expansive great room, Gaunt indicated the leather chairs, and said, "Have a seat. Can I get anyone coffee?"

"No, thank you, Mr. Gaunt," Grissom replied. "However, I would like a couple of answers to some questions I have."

At Gaunt's quizzical look, Grissom asked, "Do you have any other relatives that live in the area or are visiting?"

"No. Since my father died, the closest relative we've had is our uncle Ian, back in Clair County, Ireland."

"We're having a hard time with that," Grissom replied, "because the blood we found at the scene seems to indicate another male relative."

Sitting back in his chair, Brass asked, "Could you describe the circumstances around your brother's death?" When Gaunt just gave him a confused look, Brass said, "It's very simple. I want you to tell me how your brother died."

Blowing out a harsh breath, Gaunt stood and paced to the window. "I don't understand why. You have the police report. His car swerved off the interstate doing over a hundred miles an hour. His body was recovered, burned beyond recognition."

"It doesn't tell us his frame of mind," Grissom interjected, "What he was feeling. If he was happy or depressed. We need you to fill in the gaps."

Wearily sitting back in the chair, Jim Gaunt sighed. Closing his eyes, he quietly said, "Billy suffered from obsessive-compulsive disorder. The only time he was ever really free from it was when he painted. He would walk through the house, counting his steps, then repeating the number over and over." Looking directly at Grissom he added, "I would hear Billy repeating the same word again and again and again. To tell you the truth, it was hard to be around him, so I spent as little time with him as possible. Before he died, he was getting better. Isabella… he adored Isabella, and worked so hard to please her."

"Then why only leave her four paintings and leave everything to you?" Brass asked.

A grim smile on his face, Gaunt responded, "It's all she wanted. There were four specific paintings she wanted – the ones he did when he was younger, before people started buying his work."

Agitated, Gaunt touched a button and softly said, "Annie, could you please bring a coffee tray?" He paused before he murmured, "Bring some whiskey, as well."

When the house keeper silently entered the room, laying the tray on a side table, Gaunt mumbled, "Thank you," and nodded to her. At her demure exit, Gaunt poured a cup, giving himself a healthy dose of whiskey. "Are you sure you wouldn't like a cup of coffee?" Brass and Grissom shook their heads 'No'.

"I have a request that may seem odd," Grissom said. "Do you still have an item like a hairbrush that your brother would have used?" When Gaunt's eyebrows rose in surprise, Grissom added, "We would like to be able to eliminate your brother as the source of the blood."

Frowning into his cup, Gaunt replied, "Yes. His rooms have been kept as they were that fateful day. I don't see how his blood could possibly be the source of anything, though."

"It's possible the blood we're talking about is from before he died," Brass said lightly, "you know – a cut on the hand or a nosebleed."

Nodding casually, Grissom smiled and said, "We just need to verify he was or was not the source."

On their way back to the lab with a hairbrush used by Billy Gaunt, Grissom surmised, "Jim Gaunt appears to have taken his brother's death hard."

"Humph," Brass replied. "It sounds more like he feels guilty over not wanting to be around his brother."

Stopping by the DNA lab, Grissom handed the sample off in Sara's box. He and Brass made it to Grissom's office to find Sara sitting on Grissom's couch reading an entomology journal. Smiling when they entered, Sara asked, "How'd it go?"

"We have a DNA sample of Billy Gaunt," Grissom stated. When Sara rose to head down to the DNA lab, Brass intercepted her with, "It's late. Why don't we go get some breakfast and head out."

"Sounds good," Sara said, "let me get my jacket."

No sooner had they hit the lobby than Ecklie popped out of nowhere and ground out, "Grissom." For half a second Sara thought about answering, just to confuse the man, but decided it might make things harder on her husband. If the set look on the lab director's face was any indication, Grissom was in for a hard enough time. This was confirmed when Ecklie scowled and demanded, "You've been avoiding me. My office. Now. I won't approve this budget request until you explain a few things to me."

Looking helplessly at Brass and Sara, Grissom sighed and turned back with, "Sure, Conrad."

Grinning, Brass clapped Grissom on the back and said, "I'll take Sara home after breakfast," and the two headed out the door.

Once in their booth, Sara asked, "So tell me how you ended up on this case. Where's Vega?"

"I thought you'd heard. He got pulled back into an old case he'd worked with Days. It turns out new evidence came to light, and he was specifically requested," Brass stated. Grinning, he added, "My shining personality isn't good enough?"

Sara laughed in response, and picked up the menu. While they ordered and waited for their food, they made small talk about everything from the sites she'd seen in California to the current case.

Chewing thoughtfully, Brass swallowed, and said, "So, I hear your step-sister is going to be coming back." His tongue-in-cheek, "That must be thrilling Greg," made her laugh.

"Yeah," Sara replied, a smile playing on her lips. "It's going to be nice to be able to spend some time together – get to really know April." Shaking her head, she laughed, "A year ago, I would have never expected those words to come out of my mouth."

"You sound good," Brass observed, watching the brunette take a sip of coffee. "You look good, too. Whatever you did in 'Frisco obviously agreed with you." With the last statement, he watched those brown eyes go dark, something clouding and shutting down, until she shut her eyes, and moments later forced them open. It was easy to see the battle, as her eyes unfocussed in thought.

Finally taking a deep breath, Sara thought, _That's an opening if I ever heard one – it's now or never_.

Quietly, Sara stared into the half-empty coffee cup, watching the brown liquid, until she finally spoke, "When April moves out here, my mother will be around more. So will my step-father." Sighing, she softly added, "My step-father's great. Dennis. He's great."

When she frowned again, Brass asked, "Your mother's not so great?"

"It's not that," she said, her voice barely audible. Looking directly at Brass, she said, "There are things about me you don't know. Where I came from. _What_ I came from." Looking back to her coffee, she murmured, "Things I don't talk about."

When she opened her mouth to continue, Brass put up his hand.

"Sara, you don't have to say anything to me. I've got a daughter who barely speaks to me, and could honestly care less if I was alive or dead. I've got a failed marriage behind me. So let me tell you this… you don't _ever_ have to justify yourself or anything you've done – or had done to you – to me or anyone else."

When her eyes filled with tears, she gave a quick, watery smile, and understood precisely what he was saying. "Thank you, Jim. I should have known you'd understand." Shaking her head, she whispered, "I've expected people to recoil from me when I talk about it, but… that hasn't happened."

Looking up at the ceiling, Sara used her napkin to mop at her eyes. Laughing, she said, "Since I left that day, I seem to cry at the drop of the hat."

"You've just put yourself through an emotional wringer. Give yourself time to level," Brass said, taking a sip of coffee and finishing off his eggs.

Thinking it through, and realizing she really did _not_ want someone she considered a good friend to be surprised by details, Sara set her plate aside and resolutely declared, "You need to know what happened, though. My mother is fairly open about her past, and her past is tied to my past, so… I want you to know." Her smile fading, she added, "I'd just as soon you not hear the details from someone else, but if you want me to stop, I will."

Thinking it through, and seeing the sheer need to have control over this one small thing play over the young woman across from him, he made his decision. "Okay," Brass said, sitting back. "Go ahead."

For five minutes, Sara clinically walked Brass through her life. When she was finished, he grunted, "Kind of a crappy way to grow up," and grinned. "Sounds like you've got a handle on it, though."

A sad smile playing on her face, Sara replied, "Not quite, but I'm getting there."

When Grissom finally made it home and to bed, Sara snuggled against him, telling him about their friend's reaction.

"Brass is one of the least judgmental and most down-to-earth men I've ever met," Grissom stated.

"It was almost easy to say the words to him, Gil. I never thought it would be like that, ever."

Kissing her forehead, he snuggled down into his pillow, closed his eyes, and pulled her to him. "Are you ready for sleep?"

Yawning, she closed her eyes, and fell asleep with his breath on the back of her neck. A few hours later, she woke up screaming, trying to scratch her way from underneath a red Mustang.

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A/N – Okay, you know the drill. I write chapter. You like or dislike chapter. You hit review button and let me know. Please?


	35. Chapter 35

A/N – Okay, another short chapter. However, I like the direction it's heading. I hope you do, as well.

Disclaimer – Once upon a time, there was a little story. The little story was about characters owned by other people. The other people got ticked off and sued the little story, making it declare bankruptcy, losing its home, and ending up living on the streets. So… I only own the OCs I create, and the storyline written here. CBS/Paramount owns the rest of the world.

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_They've been happening too frequently_, Sara thought, staring at the centrifuge with unfocussed eyes. When she realized that part of the testing was complete, she pulled the vials and started the next step of analysis. Wiping her hands across her face, she made her way with sagging shoulders to the break room for a caffeine fix, and found Catherine and Grissom getting coffee and discussing current cases.

While Sara poured a cup of the brew, battling the overwhelming exhaustion, Grissom's eyes flashed to her movements – watching her gait and tired posture. Meanwhile, Catherine watched Grissom, noting the hint of worry that passed over his face when his mask slipped for just a moment. She wasn't distracted from the site until the brunette put down her coffee cup with a loud thud and swiftly turned.

"I need to talk to you," she said looking straight ahead, her back ramrod straight, not indicating precisely to _whom_ she was speaking. After a moment, she looked directly at Catherine, gathering her full attention and said, "You wanted me to tell you if I was having a problem that made my performance suffer." Swallowing hard, she quietly admitted, "I'm having nightmares. Frequently. Last night I had three of them. I'm tired." Barely a whisper, "I fell asleep earlier at my desk."

Looking at the dark circles under the younger woman's eyes, Catherine said, "I know you've been putting in a great deal of overtime lately in the DNA lab, then spending hours upon hours on your project." Her face taking on a look of contemplation, she continued, "I don't want you in the building more than eleven hours a day for the next three weeks, and stop the overtime in DNA altogether. If you choose to work on your project on your days off, that's up to you, but I want you out of the building altogether for at least one of your days off." At the scowl on Sara's face, she added, "There's nothing wrong with working set hours only. You're doing a great job. No one will fault you."

When Sara sharply nodded and sank down on the couch with, "Okay," Catherine looked over at Grissom and decided to give the couple some privacy. Before she closed the break room door on her way out, she paused, "Sara, no one expects you to suddenly be okay. You were pinned under a car, nearly drowned, broke your arm in a couple places trying to scrape your way from under the Mustang, and just about died of dehydration out in the desert. Then you went back to deal with the emotional wreckage of your life. Give yourself a break."

Eventually scuffling over to stand directly in front of her husband, Sara murmured, "I've woken you so many times out of a sound sleep… it must be affecting you as well." Seeking his eyes, she found the blue a bit dimmer than usual, and held in a sigh.

"Sara…" he softly murmured, knowing he needed to speak his mind, but afraid of her reaction. More strongly, he said, "I think you should see your PEAP counselor." Not waiting for her response, he continued, "I'm not saying this as the graveyard supervisor." Seeking the woman he knew hidden in the haze of her eyes, he implored, "I'm saying this as your husband." More quietly, "I'm worried."

When she didn't argue, but turned away towards the couch, he started to reach out, and pulled his hand back, _I hate seeing her like this, and I may have just made it worse_.

Her face blank, she responded, "I already made the appointment with the department psychologist," as he took a seat next to her. "I'm seeing her after shift today." Trying once again to rub the burn from her eyes, she humorlessly laughed, "I'm so tired, Gil."

When tears pooled, he asked, "Are you sure you can make it through the shift? If you want, we can call it a night and go home. You can have Catherine get someone in to cover for you."

"I want to get through at least this analysis," Sara responded, taking in a deep breath, and shaking her head clear. "I'm invested in this case." At his look, she smiled and squeezed his hand, whispering, "I'm not _that_ invested… I'm not attached to it. However, I want to solve this puzzle." Leaning into him for just a moment in the semi-privacy of the windowed break room, she finally murmured, "I should go. The results are probably up by now." Standing, she held her hand out to him, "Want to come and see?" and helped him to his feet.

Often enough, Grissom would be so intent on his destination, he left those accompanying him in his dust – forcing them to keep up or fall behind. Today, he let Sara set the pace. Slowly, they made their way back to the DNA lab in a different manner as they usually walked the halls of the LVPD CSI building – side by side, in an easy pace, not touching, but within reach.

They found Wendy waiting in her former lab when they arrived. She asked, "So?"

Sara laughed, and said, "It would have never occurred to me to test for it."

Wendy grinned, and said, "What? All I did was ask _'Are we sure Billy Gaunt is really dead?'_ "

"Yeah, but it's a great observation," Sara retorted, "and as strange as some of the cases we get here in Vegas can be…" Feeling some of the fatigue drop off as adrenaline kicked in, Sara clicked a few buttons and had the final report shooting out of the printer. Grabbing the pages, she pulled out the report and said, "Bingo."

Wendy stared over her shoulder and said, "Wow. Toto, I've got a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore."

To which Grissom replied, "Welcome back to the land of Oz. Where are the flying monkeys?"

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A/N – I have a question. Who else is scared of the flying monkeys? Hit the review button, and let me know.


	36. Chapter 36

A/N – I hope you enjoy. I'm having fun with the case. If I ever make one 'normal' or dull, please shoot me, because I'm into the weird and obnoxious. LOL

I have to add this... IT'S SNOWING BIG FAT FLAKES! OMG, I just looked out the window and it's THICK with snow. COOL! The kids are going to LOVE this. Woo hoo!

Disclaimer – I really don't want to write one. Can you?

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Greg, Warrick, and Grissom stood around the lit layout table, examining the evidence they'd collected from the gallery once again.

"Okay, so Billy Gaunt's blood was used in the paint and handprints," Warrick started, reviewing the evidence.

"That's a lot of blood," Greg said. "What do you think, Griss?"

"I think that's a bad assumption to make," Grissom replied.

At the other men's looks, he explained, "We've been assuming that bloody handprints were put on the wall, and then wiped off with a liquid cleaning solution. However, what if a small amount of blood was mixed in with some cleaning fluid and that fluid used to print the wall?"

"Yeah, but if it was done that way, then wouldn't the handprints be smudged? They were fairly clean when we lit them with the ALS." Greg stated.

"There's just one problem with that… we only found them because of a tiny smudge in extremely faint pink against the wall," Grissom murmured, leaning back against a counter. "What if it was more like this…" Walking over, Grissom grabbed a small flat pan and poured in a cap of liquid cleaner and half a cup of water. Grabbing a lancet, Grissom pricked first one finger and squeezed out a couple of thick droplets of blood into the solution. Going to the next finger, he did the same. He continued this on his fingers until he got well over a dozen good size droplets of blood in the pan of liquid, which was now very faintly pink.

Dipping his hand into the liquid, he placed it on the wall. "Go get a cup of coffee and come back in ten minutes," Grissom told them.

When they returned, the wall appeared dry. "Hit the lights," he said, pulling out the ALS and placing the corresponding goggles over his eyes, indicating the others to do the same. Warrick turned off the lights, and Grissom turned on the ALS. A handprint appeared clearly on the wall. Turning off the gear, Warrick flipped the lights back on.

"We never checked the area _around_ the handprints for trace – we focused only on the handprints," Grissom stated. "Since we've released the scene, there's no way to go back and check the walls again."

"But now we have a working theory," Greg stated.

"How did you come up with this?" Warrick asked.

Pulling up the pictures of the destroyed paintings, Grissom said, "It occurred to me that if traces of blood were found in the paint – mixed in – then why not with the cleaning solution? To that end, I had Hodges go over the concentration of the blood in the paint, and he confirmed it was a very small ratio of paint to blood – not more than half a pint per gallon. There can't be more than a gallon and a half used on the paintings. Since the amount of blood in the handprints contained a minute amount of blood in comparison to the cleaning solution, I think this is a valid theory."

"So Billy Gaunt is alive?" Greg asked.

Looking at the wall where he knew his DNA lay in an invisible handprint, Grissom grimaced and replied, "Yes, Greg. It does look that way."

Staring at the blank wall he knew contained a bloody handprint, Greg sighed, "Now… how do we find someone who obviously doesn't want to be found?"

Exactly at the end of shift, Sara sat in Grissom's office, waiting for him to get off the phone with Jim Brass. She had opted to stay and finish shift, but was fading and felt the need to get away from the lab to home, where she could allow herself to relax – or fall apart – whichever happened first.

"Hey, Griss," Nick said, his head bent towards the folder in his hand as he rapidly entered his supervisor's office, and promptly cut himself off. Whispering, "Sorry, man," when he realized Grissom was on the phone, he lightly placed the file on his supervisor's desk and started to back out when he noticed Sara half dozing on the couch. Beckoning her, she wearily rose and followed him to the hall.

"Man, Sara. You look beat." Looking back at Grissom's office and seeing the call wasn't about to end anytime soon, Nick offered, "Want a ride? I know you usually arrive and leave with Grissom, but…" he left off.

Looking back at her husband, Sara sighed, blinked her eyes a few times, and raised her drooping shoulder, with "That'd be great, Nick. I'd appreciate it."

Grabbing a piece of paper, she scrawled, "Getting a ride with Nick," and placed it in front of her husband. Reading it, he looked up, and said, "Hold on a moment Jim," before covering the mouth piece.

"Will you sleep?" he asked, and saw the faint shake of her head. Not wanting to press, he accepted the denial and said, "I'll be home as soon as I can."

Raising her head, Sara frowned and shook her head, "Please, Gil. Come home when you're ready." Sighing, she said, "Besides, I have my appointment with Dr. Granger in three hours. I won't be home for awhile."

"Then let Nick drive you to your appointment," Grissom requested. When she looked ready to argue, he held up a hand and said, "Do you _really_ think you're safe on the road right now?" On a whisper, he added, "You're exhausted." He received his response in the form of a frustrated grunt.

Sara asked Nick to drive her to an appointment later that morning, and he replied "Sure, sunshine," with that big Texas grin. Opting to pick up take-out on the way, they made it to the Grissom residence and settled in front of the television on the couch. Sitting back, watching television, they relaxed. Too tired to help it, Sara nodded off, and Nick followed suit just minutes later to the sounds of an explosion on _Mythbusters_.

Nick's first sign that something was horribly wrong was getting kicked in the ribs – hard. He'd settled on one end of the long couch, slumped in the corner, while Sara had stretched out in her sleep, her feet apparently finding a home on his leg. The lashing feet jarred him awake. The scream that tore from her, as she dropped to the floor and scrambled into the corner just plain scared him.

As she rocked back and forth, her arms wrapped around her knees that were pulled back into her chest, Nick tried to get close… only to have her eyes clamp shut and eerie whimpers creep up her throat. Trying several times to touch her, Nick finally settled on sitting in front of her – she was halfway behind the couch, shoving herself into the corner trying to hide. "Sara," he said calmly. "It's just a dream, Sara. It's okay, sweetheart. It's just a dream. It's just a big nasty dream."

Over and over he talked to her, until the eyes opened suddenly, glazed and disoriented. Within moments, they sharpened, and her head came up. "Hey Nicky," she smiled, then buried her crumpling face in her legs and let the sobs overtake her. Scooting closer, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and whispered, "I had them for over a year, sweetheart," and thought, _they've never gone completely away, but at least I don't feel ants eating me in my sleep anymore and they only happen every few months_.

"I've had them for years and years, Nick," she replied, leaning on his shoulder. Tilting her head up, she got a look at the confusion on his face. He'd naturally assumed she was dreaming about her ordeal in the desert. Closing her eyes, she whispered, "Sometimes I see Natalie, or the car, or the haze of the desert. Sometimes I see my mom stabbing my father to death," and felt him tense.

"Christ, Sara, you should have told me," he breathed out, half angry she'd never mentioned it. "I'm your friend. I could've helped. I would've found a way."

A vague smile on her face, she replied, "You have helped, Nick. You're right here, and you're taking me to see a shrink in a little bit to get shrunk."

Laughing, he said, "Geez, Sara," and shook his head. Standing, he took her hand and lifted her to her feet. Pulling her into a hug, he murmured, "Just do me a favor. If you have any nightmares and Grissom isn't around, please give me a call, okay?"

Holding her away from him so he could make clear eye contact, he sadly added, "I can understand about nightmares. Sometimes I see ants and feel like I'm suffocating. Sometimes I'm a kid back in my bedroom being molested by my babysitter." At the shocked look on her face, he leaned in and murmured, "We all have a past," in her ear.

Nodding, she pulled him back into a hug, laid her head on his shoulder, and let the silent tears fall as she grounded herself. "I'm so tired right now," she whispered. "The last time I slept was when Gil and I had our night off together."

Grissom didn't arrive home until much later than he'd intended. He hoped his wife slept, but at the same time knew he'd be more comfortable to be there if she woke with another nightmare. It surprised him to see Nick's truck parked out front, and assumed the CSI had been too tired to drive, and called a cab. He truly hadn't expected to find him in bed with his wife.

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A/N – Nick or Grissom. Which would YOU choose? Hit the review button and let me know.


	37. Chapter 37

A/N – Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. There's lots of it around here. I hope you like the chapter. Sorry it's so short. I'd actually written quite a bit of the case file into it, then realized I really didn't like it, so nuked it. Ah well… try again tomorrow, I guess.

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Standing in the doorway of the guest bedroom, Grissom watched Sara laying asleep, sprawled out on the comforter with a light blanket overlaying her, and Nick lightly snoring, propped up against the headboard. The young CSI had an obviously firm grip on his wife's hand.

The light touch and gentle shake on his shoulder woke Nick from his uneasy slumber. Opening his eyes, he met Grissom's and grimaced. Looking over at Sara, he eased his hand from hers, and quietly ambled to the hall. His voice low, he murmured, "She's finally sleeping, but I don't know for how long." With a glance at his watch, noting how late in the day it was, he groaned.

"Did she make it to her appointment?" Grissom asked, uncomfortable to be speaking with anyone about Sara's personal information.

"Yeah," Nick said, hesitantly. To say he was anxious in the current situation would have been the understatement of the year. His back and neck ached from the position he'd placed himself in and held for the last hour. On top of that, he had been laying in bed with his boss's wife – perhaps innocently, but highly unnerving with the boss watching. It was strange that someone he still flirted with had married the man Nick had been trying to impress and not disappoint for years.

"She had a nightmare," Nick stated, searching Grissom's eyes, seeing the recognition of a common event. "She has them often," he stated. Nick made his way to the front door, before Grissom halted him.

"Thanks, Nick," he offered, his face set in its usual detached manner, but his eyes saying more than enough. "I'll see you tonight."

Laying out next to Sara on the bed, Grissom smiled, when she turned over in her sleep, flopped an arm over his waist, and lay her head under his chin. Smiling, she murmured, "I'm glad you're home." Lifting her head, the clouded brown eyes groggily asked, "Can we go to our bed now?"

Guiding her slowly down the hall, a hand around her waist, they made it to their room and bed, barely undressing. As she curled into him, he whispered into her ear, "She walks in beauty, like the night / Of cloudless climes and starry skies; / And all that's best of dark and bright / Meet in her aspect and her eyes/ Thus mellow'd to that tender light / Which heaven to gaudy day denies."

Closing his eyes, his face blank, he wished yet again that he knew how to give his own words. They always seemed so far from his tongue, it bewildered him when they would suddenly appear on rare occasions, and frustrated him when they refused to come from his lips when he needed them most.

He woke her for shift, stroking his fingers through the dark strands of hair. Turning her head, she smiled up at him. "Hey," she whispered.

"Hey," he replied a few hours later, leaning down to kiss her fully awake.

"Mmmmmmm," she stretched, still tired, but fairly well awake. Rolling into him, they wrapped arms around each other, and she sighed, her breath rolling like a caress across his skin. "G'mornin'."

"How are you feeling?" he asked, eyes closed, her cheek against his.

The lack of reply had him pulling back and looking in her sober eyes, and she told him, "Dr. Granger wants me to keep a journal throughout the day. When I wake up with a nightmare, I'm to write that down, as well. I can't try and sleep – I have to make sure I get down the details."

Feeling his eyes on her, she murmured, "Nick knows." She knew Gil would comprehend the true meaning behind her words.

Letting out a pent up breath, he whispered it through her hair, "Is it okay that he knows?"

"It's not like I had much choice in it – I'm surprised I didn't break a rib when I kicked him," she murmured, then told him about the nightmare that woke her and Nick from their slumber on the couch.

Leaning in, he replied, "You can hurt me anytime you want, dear," and smiled at her chuckle. Sighing, he added, "But I'm afraid it's time to get ready for work now." Neither moved for awhile, but succumbed to greed in stealing another moment.

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The poem is by Lord Byron.

A/N – Okay… so, is the end of this chapter a little better?


	38. Chapter 38

A/N – Okay, I'm happier with what I wrote for the case file in this one. It's not resolved, by any means, but what the heck… it'll get there eventually.

Disclaimer – Does anyone even read the disclaimer?

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They looked tired, ambling into work barely in time for shift start. With only a domestic to process, Grissom walked into the break room, with Sara heading to the DNA lab to check the backlog. He felt the fatigue overlaying him and was glad he'd have a night off the next day, even if Sara had to work. The sheer number of hours he'd been putting in lately was getting to him.

"It's a slow night, everyone," Grissom announced, a single sheet in his hand. Looking to the newest addition of the team, he asked, "Nick, can you handle the rest of last night's case on your own?" At Nick's nod, Grissom turned to Wendy and said, "You and I will be handling a domestic tonight." Looking at Catherine, he smirked, "I believe there's plenty of paperwork if you end up with time on your hands."

Rolling her eyes, Catherine stood from her chair, and headed out with, "See you later, guys."

It was a few hours later when Sara found Greg and Warrick in the layout room. Having gotten rid of the backlog of DNA samples waiting for processing, she didn't want to deal with her own project, so sought them out to see how the case was going.

"Hey, guys," she said, entering the room.

Warrick looked up through tired eyes of his own, and smiled, "Hey, Sara."

"Get me caught up," she requested, and Greg relayed the blood experiment and information they'd come up with the delay before. When the young CSI told her about the bloody handprint, Sara frowned, "Why? Why would he do it? Where is he?"

"Brass put an APB out on Billy Gaunt," Warrick stated. "Until the evidence changes, we are making the assumption he's out there somewhere. He must be in the Vegas area if he was able to destroy the paintings."

Leaning against a counter, Sara lowered her head in thought, before murmuring, "He's very particular about his work." Catching the questioning looks from the two men, she continued, "When I went to the gallery he started off in several years ago, the gallery owner was getting ready to ring up a sale for a particular painting I'd chosen. However, before he could, the artist – Billy – started talking to me. He kept talking to me, asking questions, until he suddenly informed me I couldn't buy the painting I'd chosen. I just stood there confused, as he walked off. I was actually getting ready to leave when he came back."

Smiling, she finished, "He'd gone to the back room. He said after talking to me, the painting I was about to buy wasn't the right one, and he brought out the two paintings I ended up buying. He wanted me to have the paintings that represented my life, and that the two of them together made it complete."

"Did he tell you why you needed those two particular paintings?" Greg asked.

Smiling, she nodded. It was before she and Gil had gotten together – before the attraction had turned into the affair. She remembered what the young artist had said, _"They're you and him, swirling around, but one day you'll find your centers, and fall into that simple point where everything becomes a single focus."_ For that reason, they hung in their living room.

Looking at the two men in the room, she said, "The reasons he gave are private," and felt her neck heat.

When they smirked at her, she diverted their attention with, "Now that I think of it, I saw him approaching everyone there." Closing her eyes and visualizing the hole-in-the-wall gallery, she said, "I think he was trying to match a person to just the right painting for them."

"He takes his art very personal," Greg stated. Looking again at the pictures, he sighed, "I just wish I could understand why he would mix his blood with the paint or put handprints all over the walls."

"We need to talk to Bella and Jim Gaunt again. I think they're going to have a better understanding of what motivates their brother," Warrick murmured. "Let me set it up with Grissom. He'll want to lead the interview."

A couple hours later, Grissom found Sara in her lab, but she wasn't working on her project. Instead, she lay on the new couch that had finally arrived. Running the back of his hand against her cheek, he softly whispered, "Rise and shine," and heard her murmur, "I'm awake – my eyes needed to rest, though."

"How was the domestic?" she asked, and watched shadows overlay his features. "That bad, huh?"

"I know Wendy's seen some domestics already – stabbings, battery and such, but this one was her first with kids," Grissom replied, thinking, _I'm just glad you weren't there to see it._ "Social services took two kids out of the house. Both parents were high, screaming at each other. The kids are covered in bruises, and the mother slammed one of them into the wall in front of the cops on scene. He was maybe five or six. She was so high it took two officers to get her cuffed."

Standing, she hugged her husband and kissed his cheek. "It sounds like you've had a long day already," she murmured.

On a heavy breath, he replied, "It looks like it's going to be even longer. Brass and I are meeting the Gaunts at PD at nine o'clock this morning."

Smiling, Sara said, "How about I come with you? I'm caught up in DNA, and shift will be over in a bit. Get some paperwork done, hide from Ecklie, and we'll escape." She chuckled when he grimaced at Ecklie's name.

Making his way down to Grissom's office, Sara paused at the sight of Wendy staring into her locker. "I'll meet you there," Sara quietly said, before peeling off in a different direction. At his questioning look, Sara shrugged toward the locker room, and he nodded in reply.

Standing in front of her own locker, Sara pulled out her jacket, and looked over at Wendy. It was hard to believe they were the same age, when most days Sara felt so much older. The CSI-in-training's face was blank, her eyes expressionless when Sara captured them with her own.

"It's hard," Sara quietly said. "When there are kids it's even harder."

Nodding, Wendy replied, "I don't know how all of you have dealt with it."

Smiling sadly, Sara stated, "I didn't. I left. I couldn't handle seeing it anymore." Moving to straddle the bench, facing Wendy, Sara continued, "You need to learn to put it away. You can't invest yourself in every case, or it will eat you from the inside out."

"How do you just put it away?" Wendy asked. "How do you _not_ get involved?"

On a mirthless laugh, Sara responded, "If I knew that, I'd probably still be in the field."

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A/N – Okay, what do you think? Personally, it's better than the garbage I deleted yesterday. Please leave me a message and let me know. Thanks for taking the time to read this drivel.


	39. Chapter 39

A/N – Another day, another installment. It actually cheered me up a little writing this, after a not so good day. I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer – This is for the writers for CSI. While I realize CBS/Paramount owns the characters (there's the disclaimer part), you are the ones that make the show so damn good. I hope you get what you are asking for. You deserve it.

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Walking out to the car ended up in an argument.

"No more than eleven hours, Sara," Grissom huffed. "Those were Catherine's words."

"No more than eleven hours _in the building_," she calmly replied, relaying her supervisor's mandate. "I won't _be_ in the building. I'll be at LVPD, with you."

"Sara," he warned, his low tone closing in on a growl.

"Come on, Gil," she replied, a slight smile on her face. "I'm just going to watch you do your magic." Looking around to verify no one watched, she leaned into him as he opened the car door. "I like watching you work, baby," she murmured. The grin growing into a full Sidle smile, she asked, "Please?"

Groaning, he said, "Fine. But if you get in trouble with Catherine, you're on your own."

"She'll never know, unless you tell her," Sara responded, confidently.

"I won't lie if she asks, you know," Grissom warned.

"I wouldn't expect you to."

By the time they arrived at LVPD, the Gaunts were already in an interrogation room, along with Brass. Warrick and Greg stood in the observation room, and Sara joined them. Bypassing them, Grissom entered the room.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, taking a seat facing the Gaunts. Sitting back, he added, "We have a few more questions we need answered."

Thinking to the best place to start, Grissom figured _Might as well start with the good news_ and told them, "We have reason to believe your brother is alive."

For several moments, there was no reaction, then Jim Gaunt's face buckled into a scowl and he began to stand. Harshly, he said, "That's cruel. Just outright cruel."

Grissom ignored him, because his focus was on Bella Gaunt. He saw the hope burst into her eyes, and tears pool. Being only a few years older than her brother Billy, Grissom knew they'd been close. He'd wondered if perhaps Bella had already known – perhaps helped the young artist fake his own death. The naked reaction in her eyes said otherwise.

Meanwhile, Brass calmly stated, "I've put an all points bulletin out on your brother. If he's found in Vegas or the surrounding areas, he'll be picked up."

Bella laid her hands carefully out on the table and asked, "How can this be?" By now, tears quietly streaked her face.

"That's what we're trying to figure out," Grissom replied. "We need to know more about the day he disappeared. It's possible he wanted to vanish, but we don't know why."

Having moved to stand near the wall, Jim Gaunt's soft, "I can answer that," was barely a whisper in the room. When everyone had looked at him, he said, "That would be my fault," his voice filled with self-recrimination. Looking to his sister, his tone softened and he continued, "The day he died… disappeared… he was home. He kept walking in and out of my office. It was constant. He turned the doorknob, opened the door, walked out, turned, closed the door. He did the same the other way." Now looking at the floor, he said, "I got fed up with it. I kept asking him to go do something. The reports I was working on needed to be out that day, and I was fed up."

"What did you do?" Bella asked, no fault in her voice.

"I told him to go away," Jim replied, still looking at the floor. When he finally looked up, tears poured down his eyes, and he repeated, "I just told him to go away, like he was nothing more than a nuisance, because I was fed up with him."

When Bella moved to hug her brother, he wrapped his arms around her, and whispered, "Those were the last words I ever said to him."

"And you may get to say more," she firmly told him, stepping back.

If Brass and Grissom had been pressed to describe Isabella Gaunt, they would have used words like quiet or meek. As the forceful brother melted into a chair, they watched the woman take center stage, a spine of steel and a frown set on her face.

"Tell me what you have, and I'll answer whatever questions you have," she informed the CSI and detective. "I want him found as soon as possible." Looking at her older brother, she said, "Call a private detective agency. Start searching. I want him home as soon as possible." Immediately, he stood to do her bidding, as an officer escorted him into the hallway, leaving Isabella Gaunt alone with the two LVPD employees.

For several minutes, Grissom went over the evidence with her, explaining the handprints and the paint. He explained to her how they had come to the conclusion Billy wasn't dead.

"Why would he mix his blood in with the paint?" Grissom asked.

Shaking her head, she said, "If I had to guess, it's because those paintings are part of him. If he was going to destroy them, he could only do it by leaving part of himself." Looking directly at Grissom, she continued, "Billy is extraordinarily intelligent, but he can't control the impulses that repeat in his brain. He can verbalize his feelings, but no matter the medication, nothing ever seemed to work. It got particularly bad once he hit adolescence."

Grinning, she added, "When he was fourteen, our parents gave him this art kit. We were all amazed when he stopped counting the alphabet backward for the hundredth time and started painting. He relaxed, and actually smiled for the first time in a very long time. His art isn't just what helps him control is OCD. It's his salvation, and it's part of his very being."

"Do you have any idea why the bloody handprints?"

"Bloody handprints…" she trailed off. Frowning in thought, Grissom gave her time to contemplate the significance. Just as Brass began to open his mouth, she leaned back in her chair and chuckled.

"Bloody handprints," she shook her head. "We were watching one of those forensic shows on television – you know the type I'm talking about. They're unrealistic dramas that sensationalize the sciences." Shaking her head, she continued, "Anyway, they had this case with bloody handprints." A slight frown, she added, "That was ages and ages ago. I'd almost forgotten."

His face sober, Grissom said, "We still have one very serious question I think only your brother can answer."

Her face falling, Grissom watched her slowly deflate, until she finally stated, "Yes. I can imagine. You want to know who really died in the car accident." Her face setting firm, she added, "I can tell you right now… Billy could never hurt anyone. I have faith in that."

When Jim Gaunt came back into the room and took a seat next to his sister, he gripped her hand, and murmured, "I've hired a private investigator. I'm giving them… motivation… to find Billy quickly."

"You do understand that if you find him before we do, we need to be notified immediately," Brass said. "Otherwise, you could be charged with obstruction."

"Of course," Jim Gaunt said, nodding his head, his voice nothing more than a whisper.

Isabella said, "Jimmy, it's not your fault."

Sitting back, he firmly stated, "Yes, it is. Our parents asked us both to take care of him. I lost track of that somewhere along the way." Closing his eyes, he breathed out, "I'd give anything for a second chance."

Standing, Grissom said, "Thank you for answering my questions."

Stepping to the door, Brass held it open, "Thank you again for coming in today."

Once the Gaunts left, Grissom's crew made their way into the interview room.

"It makes sense," Sara said, sitting across from Grissom. "It makes a lot of sense."

"Now we just need to find him," Greg said, enthused that they now had a firm understanding of the events that led to the case.

"Not _we_. It's up to Brass and the LVPD. _We_ are now off the clock," Grissom said.

After picking up Hank and taking him for a walk, Sara and Grissom settled on the couch, while she pulled out her journal to make notes, writing a summary of the day.

Standing, she yawned, and smiled, "Are you coming?" She removed her shirt and dropped it in the middle of the floor in front of him. As she walked away, he rose, hoping for more of a show on the way, and not being disappointed.

The nightmare that woke her early that afternoon didn't have her screaming or flailing in her sleep, but terrified him even more. The weeping and begging increased in anxiety, tone, and volume, until she sobbed in her sleep. His inability to wake her for the longest time burned in him, and all he could do was hold and softly speak words of comfort.


	40. Chapter 40

A/N – Okay. This turned into a bit longer of a chapter than I intended, not that I'm arguing. It just sort of surprised me. Also, I'm afraid I went into geek mode at one point. Please let me know if I need to tone it down. I'd like to hear your comments.

Disclaimer – Last night was the last new episode of the season. I'm in mourning. Leave me alone.

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Sara's day started off untypically. Leaving her husband in bed, asleep, she'd made her way to a coffee shop, journal in hand. She'd begun with good intentions – writing down her day as her psychologist had suggested, but hadn't gotten far. Instead, she ripped out the page, and started over. She also hadn't really written down the nightmare _when_ it happened. She decided on other plans.

Opening her journal, she wrote.

_I had another nightmare. This one was strange, though. It was like I was dreaming inside a dream, and I couldn't seem to open my eyes. It was so clear. I could see him just feet from me, but I couldn't reach him. In my dreams, I can never reach him when I need to most. I can only watch him suffer, as if he's a reflection of me. I want so much just to touch him. To feel his fingers touch mine._

_I was laying in the desert, so hot I shook with cold. I don't think I was breathing, and my eyes were full of grit. They burned, like torches had been laid into them. He's under the car, his hand scratching at the mud in front of him, drowning in a pool of whirling water. I can't move. I need to get him away from there. I need to get myself away from there. I need to pull him out. Suddenly, I feel my arm snap, and I'm so foggy I can't figure out why._

_I could feel him pressed against me in my sleep, and I could hear his words, but they were garbled in the rush of sound running through my head. I wanted to reach up, but I couldn't move, but I could feel him pressed against me. More than anything, I wanted to roll over and tell him I was okay, but my eyes wouldn't open and my limbs felt like lead weights. I tried to say something to him, but my mouth wouldn't move. Finally, I was so frustrated, I cried. It finally woke me, but made me so tired I couldn't get any words out when I gradually emerged from the nightmare. Dr. Granger calls them terrors – from post-traumatic stress disorder. There's too much in my mind sometimes, and I wish I could just turn it off, but it won't leave. Nick said he had them for a year. I'm not sure how he survived them._

Laying down the pen, she picked up her half-drunk cup of coffee, and headed into the lab. Catherine handed out assignments, as was the standard procedure, as Sara made her way to the DNA lab. It was a slow night, with no word yet on Billy Gaunt. While she processed the backlog, she hoped he was found soon. The case would not be closed without answers.

She ended up spending half her day building a V/R device, which ended up not working. That's where Nick found her.

Her back to the door, he could hear her IPod clear across the lab, and he grinned. She obviously hadn't heard his ringtone, so he took the opportunity to watch her work… and ended up with a grin the size of Texas on his face.

"_When I look in her eyes, there ain't no surprise. Sparks start a flyin' like the 4__th__ of July. She gets me so hot, my heart start a pumpin'. When we get to kissin' there ain't no stopping,"_ came from the brunette's mouth in tune to the music blaring in her ears. As she spun, half-dancing, to retrieve some needle-nose pliers from the desk behind her, she came face-to-face with Nick.

Unable to control it anymore, he burst out laughing, "You're listening to country music. Willingly!" Bent over, holding himself up on a work table, tears poured out of his eyes, and her neck began to burn. Turning off the IPod, she dropped the ear pieces around her shoulders and glared at him.

"Yes, Nicholas?" she asked him, one eyebrow raised.

"You've spent too much time with Grissom," he replied, a huge grin on his face. "You're starting to imitate him."

"Very funny," she said before grabbing the tool she needed and turning back to her work. "What brings you here?"

Sauntering over, he looked at the pieces of metal in her hands and replied, "I just wanted to watch you work." Taking a seat, he began looking through the pieces and parts, before asking, "Do you mind?"

"As long as you don't interrupt my train of thought," she murmured, bending a thin strap of aluminum. Sliding what looked like a very small camera into the ring she'd made with the metal, she visually lined it up as best she could, thinking, _I'll need to calibrate the alignment on the camera lens later_. It took quite some time before she got the tiny circuit boards attached, and plugged into the computer.

Stepping back, she eyes her handiwork and grinned, "Ugly, isn't it?" She was right – to the naked eye, it looked like a mass of scrap pieces. However, she knew what function each piece and part was intended to perform, and was happy with the efforts so far.

"Cross your fingers," she murmured, attaching the link to the computer and hitting a few keys. When a digital image flashed across the screen, she let out a whoop, and gave Nick a full smile.

"Are the images being stored anywhere?" Nick asked, and she shook her head.

"Not yet," she replied, and explained, "The cataloguing software isn't written yet. That's being handled by a team of software developers in Chicago."

"What are you planning on having your step-sister work on?" he wondered aloud.

"When April starts in a couple of weeks the spatial rendering software going to be her primary project. I spoke with her a couple of days ago. She wants to build an engine," Sara explained.

Laughing at Nick's puzzled expression, Sara explained, "April's big into writing video games – she has been since she was in grade school. Do you remember the games Doom and Doom II? Well, the engine was open to creating new scenarios for the game. You created your own script for the game in a language the engine could read, and you could basically play a version you created. She's toying with the idea of doing the same thing for the design of the spatial rendering."

"In other words, the part of the project that records the basic layout, like measurements and stuff will be done through her software engine?" Nick asked.

"Exactly!" Sara enthusiastically stated. "This engine will be able to take whatever measurements the camera comes up with, and create the room on a server someplace."

"How did you come up with this project, anyway?" Nick asked, staring at the images that flashed across the screen. When he waved his hand at the device in question, Sara nodded, and he picked it up.

Thoughtfully, Sara sat in a stool at the workbench, and finally said, "I see everything in patterns. I can look at data and see how it fits together. It's one of the reasons I'm good at math and physics. Everything is like a puzzle."

When he stopped watching himself on the monitor, for he had the camera pointed at his face, Nick said, "But why this?"

"First, because it's a cool idea and fun to try and implement, but second because it's needed. It would be awfully nice not to have to manually write out things and draw sketches of crime scenes. It should also lead to higher accuracy in detailed scene collection," she explained. "I've been fascinated with the concept since my first forensics seminar when I was at Berkley. Even before that, I had this idea of being able to view things in a three-dimensional manner."

Putting down the camera, Nick grinned at her. "This is really awesome."

"Thanks, Nick," she quietly said, flipping off the test application. Taking a seat on the soft couch that had finally been delivered days late, she patted the spot next to her. "Have a seat and ask. I know you came here for a reason, not just to get bored watching me work."

Sitting next to her, he ruefully grinned and said, "You're right. I came here to check up on you… on your nightmares."

"I would say I'm fine, but I promised myself when I came home that I'd at least be honest with myself. I'm in a constant state of anxiety and ache," she told him, not looking particularly upset. "It's become a sort of constant in my life lately."

"Are you doing what the doctor told you to do?" he asked.

"Sort of," she replied, thoughtfully. "I changed the rules a bit. I'm doing it my own way, instead of Dr. Granger's way."

When he smirked, she laughed, "Shift is over in fifteen minutes. I'm actually _not_ going to work late today. I made good progress," she indicated with a nod to the work bench.

"Want to grab a bite?" Nick asked.

Wistfully, she replied, "Not today. Today, I'm going home and spending some time with my husband."

"It's weird to hear you say that… for you to refer to him as your husband," he said. "You never said how or when he proposed or you guys got married."

Grinning, she closed her eyes, and thought back to that day. Her voice taking a soft quality Nick had never heard from her before, she told him, "He was showing me his bees, and he said, 'Maybe we should get married.' Then the stupid bee stung me, and I wanted to answer, but he was so worried about the bee sting. I didn't even feel it once he held my hand. When I said 'Yes'… we went down to a small, tasteful chapel and got married."

Opening her eyes, she looked into Nick's. Smiling at her, he replied, "The way you two did it… it's you." Shaking his head, he laughed, "I should be mad that I didn't get to be there, but… it's you. Both of you. That's who you are, and I don't think I'd want it any other way."

Standing, he pulled her up with him, and into a hug. "Remember… if you need someone to talk to, I'm here."

"Thanks, Nick," she softly replied, escorting him to the door.

Eventually grabbing her things from her locker, she made her way out the door and headed for home. Walking in through the garage door, she braced herself for impact as Hank bound toward her to give her a big slobbery kiss.

"Down boy," she laughed, dropping her keys and purse on the side table. Making her way to the kitchen, she found Grissom standing over the stove.

"I called your cell," he said, and watched her wince.

"I left it sitting on my workbench," she murmured.

He flipped off the stove, pushed the pan of steaming vegetables to the back burner and turned. When she walked into his embrace, he asked, "How was your day, dear?"

"Good," she replied, smiling. Tilting her head, she kissed his cheek, letting herself linger to draw in the scent of shampoo and soap. "Really good," she murmured, delving in for more, and finding his lips.

"You're in a good mood," he drawled, and she grinned.

Stepping back, she pulled out her journal. Looking from it to him, she said, "I felt better. Writing it out, I felt okay with it. It didn't… drag on me throughout the day. I think that is the hardest part – the fact that I feel it all day."

"Well, I've got food ready – I made steamed vegetables and rice," he said, kissing her quickly on the cheek before turning back to the stove. "I thought we could take Hank for a walk this morning."

By the time they finished their daily routine and fell into bed, they were grinning. As they touched and caressed, they smiled and laughed, finding their fulfillment in a way they hadn't in a very long time – with lightness, ease, but most importantly – playfulness.

When the alarm went off, Sara rolled languidly to her husband and whispered, "Good morning," even though they both knew it was late evening.

"How did you sleep?" he asked, running a hand across her bare shoulder. "You didn't wake me," he murmured, replacing his hand with his lips, and feeling her shiver.

"I woke once, but it was mild – an annoyance more than anything," she replied.

Eventually getting out of bed, they prepared for the day.

"It's your night off," Grissom stated.

Smiling, she responded, "That's why I'm not going in. I'm taking the day and spending it with Hank." Waggling her eyebrows at him, she continued in a low, sultry tone, "But I could always bring something in for you to… consume… later."

Grabbing his briefcase, he longingly looked at her and whispered a few very explicit suggestions into her ear before grinning, "We'll try that later, but if you want, you can bring me in a sandwich for lunch." He left her standing there, staring after him, her mind spinning and parts of her burning at the suggestions he made.

Grinning, she picked up her journal and sat at the dining table. And sighed. Focusing, she wrote.

_Another night, another dream. This one wasn't too bad. I told everyone I'd fallen and hit my face on the corner of the coffee table. I think I was eight or nine at the time. I felt so humiliated as I lied. That part was easy to handle. It was an event that occurred, nothing more or less. I don't remember what I did, but the black eye came from a punch. It's the lie that bothered me._

_When I think about it, I've lied an awful lot. I lied to my friends about the bruises and broken bones. I lied to everyone about my past – instead I let them make false assumptions. I lied every time I said I was fine or okay. I wasn't. I hate that I'm a liar, but the fact is, that's what I am… was. I'm working on changing that._

Putting down the pencil, she grabbed the leash. Today was her day to run a few errands, and take the dog out for a nice long walk.

Meanwhile, back in the lab, Grissom handed out assignments, and ended up at his desk. When Brass called to let him know Billy Gaunt had been picked up, he smiled, and let out a breath of relief. _Finally, we can get some answers_.

By the time Grissom made his way, alone, to LVPD, Billy Gaunt had been waiting for an hour, and appeared extremely agitated. He was drumming a methodical rhythm on the table.

"He's been living about twenty miles west of Vegas out on Blue Diamond road, working at a little diner," Brass quietly explained. "He was renting a little apartment behind the diner."

Walking into the room, the agitated young artist stood, then sat, and repeated the exercise, all the while continuing to drum his hand on the table.

"Mr. Gaunt," Grissom softly addressed, "please have a seat."

When he did to only stand again, he said, "Sorry. I'm sorry."

For twenty minutes they attempted to speak to him, while he became more and more anxious. It wasn't until the arrival of the young woman that he calmed.

The knock at the door and subsequent message from the officer had Brass walking to the front desk and up to the yelling woman.

"Where's Billy? I'm looking for Billy Grant." she demanded. "What did you do with him?"

"Miss… please. I need you to calm down," Brass said. Waving his arm over to a few chairs, the young redhead made her way over and sat down. "Now why don't you tell me who you are and why you're here."

Blowing out a calming breath, she said, "I'm Marley. Marley Anderson. Billy's my boyfriend." Shaking her head, she corrected, "Fiancée. We're getting married this spring. All I know is someone picked him up at work and took him here." Her eyes watering, she rasped, "Is he okay?"

"Yes, he is. We're talking to him right now," Brass replied. Once that seemed to sink in, he said, "You called him Billy Grant. Did you know his name is actually Billy Gaunt?" Brass saw no confusion or hesitation in her eyes at the statement. _She already knew._

Looking at the hands in her lap, resting on the blue jeans she wore, she said, "I know his last name wasn't Grant. He told me that much." Meeting his gaze, her expression fierce, she added, "I don't know what he's running from, and I don't care. I want to see him. Now."

Making a snap judgment, Brass rose, and led Marley to the interrogation room. The change that overcame the young man was instantaneous. His hands stilled, and he sat.

Walking over, Marley touched his face with her fingers, and they smiled at one another. Sitting next to him, she held his hand, and whispered, "If you must repeat something, work on the number game in your head. Keep working on it in your head, but remember to breathe, okay?"

Nodding, he took a deep breath, and looked at Grissom and Brass. "You have questions?"

"Yes, Mr. Gaunt," Grissom replied. "We'd like to hear from you _why_ you destroyed the paintings in your gallery."

"I should have told you," he murmured, staring at his fiancée. "I should have explained. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

When she placed a finger over his lips, she repeated, "Work the number game in your head," and watched his eyes close for a moment.

For several minutes, the young man confirmed the version of events that his brother, sister, and evidence had shown. He explained about feeling like a constant burden, and how he hated knowing he held back his brother and sister. He hated being an embarrassment to the family. Once done explaining, Grissom asked, "There is one very important question we need answered. Who was driving your car when it crashed?"

A look of surprise crossed the young man's face, and he gave a surprised look to everyone in the room. "Someone crashed my car?" Sitting back, he said, "Wow."

"Tell us what you did with your things in detail. We found your wallet, your pocket knife… personal items… on the body," Brass demanded.

Looking to Marley, who smiled and whispered, "Numbers game, Billy. I'll hold your hand." He closed his eyes again on a deep breath.

"When I left, I parked my car on the street. I left everything in my pockets sitting on the driver's seat – wallet, keys, pocket knife, pen, and a small acrylic paint bottle," he explained. "I wasn't planning on coming back."

He met Brass's gaze when he stated, "I have no idea who died in the accident, but it wasn't me."

The knock on the door had Brass opening it, and stepping back. When Bella and Jim Gaunt walked into the room, they stared, emotion welling in their eyes. Bella moved first, making her way around the table to embrace her little brother.

"I've missed you," she whispered. "I've missed you so much, Billy."

Meanwhile, Billy stared at Jim for the longest time. When they made eye contact, neither wanted to break it. Slowly, Jim Gaunt made his way around the table, until he stood just a foot away.

"I'm sorry, Billy," came the rasped whisper, broken from the voice of Jim Gaunt. "I'm so damn sorry."

When Billy smiled and wrapped his older brother in a hug, they held. Grissom watched Jim Gaunt's eyes look up, as if in thanks to some higher power for granting him a chance to correct a wrong.

"Can we take him home?" Bella asked Brass.

Before anyone could say a word, Billy said, "I belong with her," and he nodded toward Marley. For a moment, introductions were made, and Brass released everyone. They had no reason to disbelieve Billy Gaunt's version of the story. Everything else he'd told them had been consistent to that point.

Walking down the halls of LVPD, Grissom looked at his watch, and grinned. Waving to Brass, he walked out of the building and headed back to his office. The grin grew into a smile, as he thought about the fact that by the time he got there, Sara would be there with lunch, and he'd be able to tell her about the finally closed case file.

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A/N – The song is Josh Turner's _Firecracker._ Who thought the scene in the garage in "Bull" with Wendy, Nick, and Greg was funny? Hit the little review button down there and let me know.


	41. Chapter 41

A/N – Okay, I know it's been awhile, and I apologize. I've been a little blocked and a bit bummed. Plus, I have family in town and just haven't had a chance to put pen to paper (or in this case fingers to keyboard).

Disclaimer – Four score and seven years ago, our fathers set forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal… plus, back then, everyone didn't sue everyone else for sneezing too hard, either!

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On his way in the door to the LVPD forensics lab, Grissom stopped off at Judy's desk, asking, "Has Sara come in yet?"

He was surprised by Judy's response of, "Yes, Mr. Grissom. She arrived several hours ago."

_So much for taking it easy and relaxing on your day off,_ he thought, and made his way to the DNA lab. Poking his head in, he didn't see her, so he made his way down to her window-less research office. Tapping in his code, Grissom opened the door to find his wife dancing at a work station with her back to him, obviously 'rocking out' to whatever she had going on her IPod.

Slowly approaching from behind, he quickly wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back into him. Dropping the headphones to her neck, she smiled and with a sultry voice said to the unseen man behind her, "I have time if you do, but don't let my husband know. He can be the jealous type." Grinning, she slowly turned. "I have your lunch."

Dipping he said, he murmured, "I know," smiling into the kiss he gave her. "I thought you weren't going to work today," he stated, curious. The last he'd heard, she was planning on bringing him lunch, but spending the day out and about with the dog.

"I had an epiphany on how to fix an issue I ran into, and wanted to try it out," she said picking up some wires and a camera. "I fixed an electronic error in the infra-red inputs."

"Are you ready to eat?" he said, slowly walking toward the door, with Sara following with a nod.

As they made their way to the break room, Grissom said, "We found Billy Gaunt," and proceeded to fill her in on the events of his night. "So now we have a mystery," he murmured, sitting at the table.

"Yeah," Sara replied. "Who was in the car?"

"We're exhuming the body," Grissom stated. "We're going to put his DNA in CODIS. After that, we'll start going through missing persons cases. Maybe we can match him up."

Frowning, Sara said, "These are the ones I hate the most – they make me feel the helpless. Someone could be out there looking for this guy."

"Or not. People come to Vegas to hide sometimes," Grissom replied.

Sara sighed and asked, "Can I have it? Can I have the case?" When Grissom looked like he was about to argue, she raised her hand and continued, "You and I both know that this case will be looked at for ten minutes, then marked Cold. It won't interfere with my workload and I'll limit the time I spend on it, but I want to identify this guy."

"Clear it with Catherine," he replied, biting into his sandwich.

Later that day, with Catherine's approval, Sara took over as primary CSI on the case file of John Doe.

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The next couple of days passed typically, with a handful of B&Es, a couple of DBs, and a trick roll.

Before shift and while waiting for her husband to finish getting dressed, Sara sat at the dining room table and added to what she labeled her "Nightmare Journal".

_So, the night before last it was nice to not have any nightmares. I wish it would have carried over to last night. Instead, I woke up dripping in sweat. It was the strangest thing – I dreamed I was in a car that plummeted into the ocean off the bay where I lived as a child. I managed to get out, but only by breaking my arm smashing the window open with the rear view mirror I'd yanked off. I finally escaped, but ended up treading water in the ocean for hours and hours before I just couldn't do it anymore._

_I hate not being able to stop them. However, the last few days have been so much more mild in some ways. I'm catching up a little on sleep, and they're not so scary they keep me awake watching shadows. On the other hand, the dreams are more intense._

_Last night's dream left an aching in my chest. _

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The case load was slow for the night, but Sara finally received what she needed to process the unknown man in the car. She received the DNA from a hip bone, and laid the results in a file. Checking CODIS, she came up blank and placed the file on her desk. After the exhumation of the young man originally believed to be Billy Gaunt, Doc Robbins had sent up the hip bone with a note saying he figured it would contain the best source of DNA.

Catherine had been fine with Sara taking on the identification. It was a tedious process that could consume an inordinate amount of time, and she was determined to spend an hour each day looking.

Having just placed a vial in the centrifuge, she looked up to see Warrick standing in the doorway.

"Hey, Sara," he said, looking very tired.

"You okay?" she asked, warily watching the man move sluggishly into the room to sit heavily in her chair.

Heaving a sigh, he said, "Yeah. I'm good, just tired."

"Still having problems sleeping?"

"Yeah," he replied, "and no, I'm not taking the pills again. If I'm not here exhausting myself on a case, I'm dealing with Tina, her lawyers, and the pregnancy."

"Why don't you come over after shift?" she asked, "We can watch a movie."

Reaching out, he put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly, saying, "I'd take you up on that, but… I'll end up falling asleep." Shaking his head, he started to step back.

_We talked about not fighting our demons alone,_ she thought, and quickly grabbed his arm before he could leave. "Warrick, if you're tired, you can stay in the guest room. It's not a problem," Sara said, not entirely comfortable with the thought herself, but reconciled.

He opened his mouth, trying to figure out how to explain that he didn't feel comfortable sleeping in his boss's house. Hell, he didn't know how to explain that he still felt embarrassed about his behavior in the mob case. He'd been back at work for a long time, but the abject feeling of failure seemed to still overwhelm him at times, like right then.

Watching the battle play on Warrick's face, Sara waited until he met her gaze and stated, "You're coming over for breakfast and a movie. Period. You can drive me home the minute we get off shift, all right?"

"Thanks, Sara. I appreciate it." With that, he walked out resignedly. She watched as he rubbed his eyes and suddenly stood up straight, as if stooped over was his new normal position and he needed a self-reminder to walk tall.

Sara's attention was pulled from her friend by the buzzing of her cell phone, which she absently flipped open.

"Sara? It's April."

"Hey! I was going to call you tonight to find out when you're coming into town. I know you're not scheduled to work for awhile yet, but I figured you'd want to get here a few days before your first shift," Sara said.

"Actually, that's why I'm calling… I'm going to come over earlier than I thought and start earlier, if that's okay."

Wondering at the hesitation in April's voice, Sara quietly asked, "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," came the young woman's reply, followed by the sound of breath across the phone. "I wanted to let you know that mom and dad are driving over with me and staying for a few days."

Closing her eyes, and feeling a panicky wave of dread, Sara attempted a cheerful voice, "That's great. When will you be arriving?"

"How does next week sound?"

"That's great," Sara replied. "Hey, I have to go. Some tests are waiting on me."

With quick goodbyes and promises of further calls, Sara sat on the stool at her desk and closed her eyes. _Next week. A couple weeks early. Okay, I can handle this,_ Sara thought to herself. She'd spoken to her mother a week ago, but still felt this razor edge of hesitation.

Forcing everything to the back of her mind, she turned and grabbed the vial from the stopped centrifuge and continued the next step of processing, her face a false mask of concentration. Sara had learned long ago how to hold back emotions that threatened her. Right then, she simply didn't want to deal with it.

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A/N – Okay, everyone… cheer me up. I could use it to help with the writing. Click the review button and leave me a note. Thanks.


	42. Chapter 42

A/N – Okay, I think my muse might slowly be returning to me. It just suddenly occurred to me that I had no set goal for this story… I mean, I did when I started, but then it became fuzzy and ended up changing. It probably will again, but what the heck. I'm committed. Plus, I know how this is going to end (I've got the last scene in my head). I just got a bit bogged down.

Disclaimer – If you don't know what the heck you're doing and get sued for writing a story based on characters someone else owns, can you plead insanity?

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When Grissom walked in and found Warrick and Sara laughing over his Monty Python movie, he rolled his eyes and made his way for the living room. Standing in the doorway, he suddenly felt overwhelmingly amazed.

His team – his guys – had been beaten down and sometimes broken. _They're finding their way back,_ he thought of the two on the couch before sauntering over and receiving a warm look from his wife.

"Hey, Grissom," Warrick laughed, "I love the movie collection," to which Grissom sardonically responded, "Thank you. I'm fond of it as well."

Standing and rolling the kinks from his shoulder, Warrick bent down and murmured, "Thanks, Sara. I needed this," and sloughed on his jacket. With a wave he made his way out the front door, thankful for the company and glad he'd come over. He didn't know if he would ever feel totally at ease being in his boss's house, but he was in his friend's house too. That made a difference.

Sitting next to his wife on the couch, Gil leaned over and whispered, "I haven't seen you all day."

"Well, how would you like to see a lot more of me?" she replied, standing and slowly removing her shirt. Taking a few steps to the bedroom she slowly dropped her trousers. She continued this until a trail of 'breadcrumbs' marked the way and she stood in the doorway, wearing nothing but skin. With a quick grin and a raised eyebrow, she walked in, and he followed, a smile spreading across his face.

Later, laying sprawled across her husband's stomach, Sara rested her chin on his chest and glanced up. _I love the look on his face right now – he looks like a little boy who victoriously stole a cookie,_ she thought to herself.

Glancing down at her, he whispered, "I love you," amazed at how the words simply sang out of him. Then more soberly, he repeated, "I really love you, Sara," and watched her eyes widen.

Leaning up, she kissed him, giving him a part of her, letting herself center in the reassuring embrace. "I love you, too, Gil."

"You've been coming home on time the last few days," he stated, broaching the subject. "Is everything okay? Are you keeping your journal?"

Letting out a heavy sigh, she rolled to the side, and brought the covers up over them. "The journal actually seems to be helping a great deal," she replied, thoughtfully. "The dreams haven't been so bad lately, not so scary." Glancing into his eyes, she smiled sadly, "I hate the dreams where I can't touch you – where I can't reach you."

"I can understand," he quietly admitted. "I've had nightmares about you being trapped, and _I_ can't reach _you_." She saw guilt flash over his eyes before he rasped, "I'm not even the one who found you."

Laying her fingers over his lips, she smiled gently, "Gilbert Grissom, you can't think that way. You can't take on something over which you had no control. All right?"

Not necessarily agreeing with her, he closed his eyes and nodded. He knew he would never shake the feeling it was his fault she'd been taken. "Gil," she whispered, drawing close to his ear, "sometimes fate throws us a curve. Natalie was a curve, and I'm alive. I need you to remember that." When she felt his hold tighten, drawing her closer, she knew he'd heard. _I know you still don't believe it, but you heard me, at least._

Breathing out a heavy sight, she knew she needed to tell him, but was letting herself live for just one more moment in denial, before saying, "They'll be here next week." When Grissom glanced down, his face sketched in curiosity, she continued, "April… Laura… Dennis… they'll be here next week. April wants to start earlier than she thought."

"Are you okay with this?" he asked, watching her eyes when she answered, "Yeah."

"Liar," he softly accused, and watched her huff out an annoyed breath. _Your eyes tell me everything, Sara._

"Okay, I'm not totally okay with this," she said, catching his glance. "I knew it would happen, though, so I guess I'll have to work at it."

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A few days later, Sara was processing some DNA for a rape case Catherine had brought in, when Greg stood in her doorway, holding an evidence bag.

"I've got a weird one for you," he muttered, dropping the bag on her desk. At her curious look, he continued, "Okay, someone broke into a bank. They didn't take anything. Nothing. They just broke through the security system, left a note and vamoosed." Shaking his head, he pointed to the evidence, "I found a drop of liquid on a counter. I think it might be sweat. That's the swab, but I don't know if there's enough for DNA. It was barely anything.

Smiling, she picked up the bag and pulled out the swab. Holding it up, she looked over at Greg and said, "I'll page you." As Greg wiped his hand over his face, looking exhausted by a long, frustrating shift, she casually mentioned, "April will be here in less than a week."

"Really?" he said, trying to act casual. The attempt failed, however, when he couldn't contain the giddy smile that spread. Turning, feeling slightly dazed and more than a little happy, he whistled his way down the hall. Not bothering to hold back the laughter, Sara turned back to her work.

Later, after paging Greg to tell him his swab came back inconclusive, Sara made her way to her research. If she was going to be prepared for April to work on rendering, she needed to have the interfaces for the camera complete, and to that end, she felt like she was beaming. In the middle of processing, she'd had an epiphany regarding a problem she simply _hadn't_ been able to resolve – it had been driving her crazy for days.

Lost in thought, Sara bumped into Nick. Mentally ticking off the parts she would need in order to rework the COM diagnostics system, she hadn't even seen him. "Whoa, sunshine," Nick said, catching her before she could ram into the wall. "What's so funny?"

Shaking her head, she grinned ruefully, "Daydreaming, I guess," she replied. Turning around, the anticipation of a success building, she asked over her shoulder, "Don't you love it when you solve a puzzle?"

Once ensconced in her office, she grabbed her make-shift V/R gear and started unlatching the standard camera gear she'd built. Picking up the night vision unit, she pried open the case, thinking, _Well, broke the seal on this puppy. I hope this works or I just wasted a thousand bucks._ She nearly winced when she pried open the casing to the digital camera, knowing it was a five thousand dollar unit. Slowly, she pulled all the pieces and parts from the night vision goggles, as well as the camera and laid them out on static guard plastic sheeting.

When Grissom found her later, she was so engrossed in piecing together bits of the camera and the night vision goggles, she barely heard his ring tone. Waving her hand in recognition, faced away from the door, she stared at the lenses sitting on the table and sighed. She'd fixed one problem, and realized she would need another issue resolved before continuing. Sitting back, she rubbed the heels of her hands across her eyes and let out a breath.

"You've been avoiding me," he accused. "You've been avoiding our discussion."

Sighing, she turned and quietly said, "You're right. However, I have good cause."

When he simply raised his eyebrow at her, she continued, "I haven't wanted to talk. I'd say that's good cause."

"Oh… I don't think so," he replied, pulling her back to him when she started to walk to the other side of the room, effectively cutting off all conversation.

"Gil, now isn't the time for this discussion. We're at work," she stated, to be interrupted with, "Sara!"

Sighing heavily, over-dramatizing the 'discussion', she heavily sat on the couch and balefully glared at her husband. "Yes?"

"They're arriving in just a few days," he said, finally exasperated, taking the spot next to her. It had been driving him nuts that she'd avoided any and all discussion of her family's visit, and April's subsequent move. Three times in the last two days she promised to talk about it, and had instead avoided it altogether by introducing other topics. "Even if you don't want to prepare for them, we at least have to discuss logistics."

"What logistics? April is staying with us, and Laura and Dennis are staying at the MGM Grand," she informed him. "There's nothing to discuss. Simple. See?"

Starting to stand, he grabbed her arm and yanked her back down, grumbling, "For God's sake, Sara. You know what I'm talking about." When the thought struck him, he looked at her incredulously, "You're not going to _avoid_ them, are you?" When the guilt flashed over his eyes, he stood back and stared at her. "Why?" he asked, confused. "You were talking with them and getting along well when you left San Francisco," he said.

Leaning subconsciously forward, and wrapping her arms around her knees, she looked over at him and shook her head. "You know, I've done a pretty damn good job of just not thinking about this for the last few days," she said. When he just stared at her, she finally whispered, "They're invading my territory."

Reaching out, he wound his fingers around hers and was transported back to the day she'd told him about her parents – about her life. For the longest time, he watched as the tough no-nonsense woman he'd loved for longer than he could remember let silent tears slide down her cheeks.

"Right about now, I'm feeling like an idiot," she said with a watery smile, watching his eyes. The typical blue had been replaced by a deeper sapphire, and she let herself stare. Finding her balance, she leaned into him. "I'm okay with April being here. She and I are connected, but in a different way. In some ways she's like Greg – someone who's not just family, but a friend. But Laura… I can't define it. Part of me is still the scared little girl, and the other part just wants her to be… proud?"

Shaking her head, Sara muttered, "I don't know why I want that, but I do."

Catching his eyes again, she leaned in a bit and whispered, "By the way… thank you."

"For what?"

"For allowing all of this into our lives," she replied, grateful for the small circles he rubbed on her back. He felt the small smile on his neck when she murmured, "You like order in your life. This is definitely not orderly. Some days, I don't think it's even sane."

"Dear, my life became messy the moment I heard your voice," Grissom replied. "My only regret was in taking so damn long, when you were it for me."

"Ahhh… yes. Anti-stupid. I remember that," she joked, and he playfully frowned at her before a quick kiss.

"I realize the guys all thought you were talking about the traditions of weddings when you used that word, but… don't think I didn't pick up on you making fun of me," he said, before standing and pulling her to her feet. "I know full well that you were referring to what you commonly refer to as my 'stupid' years," he commented.

Making their way out of the lab, Sara stopped to grab her Nightmare journal.

Noticing the move, Grissom asked, "How are your nightmares?" When she gave him a curious glance, and said, "You sleep with me. How do you _think_ they are?"

Feeling like he was being slightly tested, he furrowed his brow in thought and said, "I know you've had a couple of nights sleep, uninterrupted. However, I also know that you've woken up and gotten out of bed on other nights." Watching her brown eyes go dark, he murmured, "Since you went to the kitchen for water, I'm assuming something disturbed you enough to wake, but not keep you up. You eventually came back to bed each night."

Resignedly, she let out a long breath and replied, "That would be about right." Cocking her head a bit in thought, "I think the nightmares are getting better in some ways, and stranger in others. They're shifting into something different."

Softly murmuring, she admitted, "My appointment with the counselor went well yesterday," as she stared at her feet.

Grissom had an ominous feeling, though, when she added, "Dr. Granger figures I haven't yet hit the worst of it. She said something about a lull in the storm, followed by it always being darkest before dawn." Closing his eyes momentarily, he wondered how much more she… they… would have to take.

Unfortunately, his question was partially answered a couple of days later.

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A/N – Another day, another chapter. Oooh, is that a cliff hanger I see? Hmmm… click the little button and send me a review, and maybe I'll write the next chapter. LOL


	43. Chapter 43

A/N – Here's another chapter. I actually wrote it, deleted it, wrote it again, deleted it, and this is what I finally came up with.

Disclaimer – It's all yours. Don't sue me.

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The next couple days flew rapidly, with Sara able to spend the majority of it working on re-designing cameras, and putting together a prototype.

Finding her there, Grissom watched her work, trying not to disturb, but surveying in amazement as she pulled pieces apart. More than once, he interrupted her to ask precisely the purpose of intermingling Infrared, night vision, and other camera systems into a single unit. He had always known she was good with electronics, but the depth of her knowledge stunned him, and he said so.

Grinning, she ducked her head and admitted, "I was the kid who could fix the appliances in the house."

Chuckling, he wrapped her close, knowing they were cocooned behind secure doors in private.

When her phone rang, she saw the name on the screen, and answered, "Hey, April."

For several minutes, he watched Sara converse, letting his eyes wander over her, and feeling a sense of contentment he wasn't sure he'd ever been truly conscious of being part of his life before she'd come along. The longer he watched her tilted head, her hair falling across her face, the more he wanted to run his hand across her cheek… maybe down her pulse point, just to feel the skitter.

Hanging up, she smiled over to him, then looked at him quizzically. "What are you thinking, Gil?" she asked, sliding up to him for a quick hug.

"You," he softly murmured. When she turned and gave him an odd look, he continued, "I'm always thinking of you."

As she attempted to pass him, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close, laying his cheek against her hair. Turning in, he inhaled the scent so uniquely her and murmured, "I'm so turned on by your mind right now," and left off when she chuckled. Turning her head, she nibbled at his lips, felt him delve deep, and moaned. It quickly turned to a groan, however, when Greg's ringtone played through the lab, and they separated.

Walking in with a grin on his face, Greg frowned, looking between Sara and Grissom, noticing the flushed faces, and winced. "Bad timing?" he questioned.

"You're fine, Greg," Sara said, a slight smile turning up her lips. Watching Greg shuffle around a little, Sara quietly said, "They arrived awhile ago. We're having breakfast at our house after shift."

"I know," he said, and smiled at Grissom's frown. "April called me a few minutes ago." Not knowing precisely how to ask, Greg said, "Look, April invited me for breakfast, too, but… I don't want to walk into something private." Trapping Sara's glance, he softly added, "If you don't want me there, I understand. I can't imagine how it's going to be for you…"

Feeling some of the buzzing energy her husband had injected into her drain, Sara replied, "It's okay, Greg." Looking at her husband, questioning him with her eyes, he replied, "It's fine with me."

"Good. Great." Looking between the two of them, he began to back out of the room, saying, "I'm just going to get back to work."

Out in the hall, Greg leaned against the wall, and put his hands on his knees, torn between elation and something he'd never expected – burning anger. While he couldn't wait to spend more time with a certain young blond woman who often interrupted his thoughts, he couldn't shake the words from the transcript Sara had given him not long ago. _Well, idiot, maybe you should have actually destroyed it, like she told you,_ he chastised himself, making his way to the break room.

Once Greg had departed, Sara made her way back to her husband, who now sat at her desk, a pile of folder in front of him, frowning fiercely. After she gave him a quick peck on the cheek, he sighed, "I really hate paperwork," only to see her smirk. The mock scowl lasted only a few seconds, before he gave her a playful grin.

Standing, he held out his hand, and quietly asked, "Shall we continue before we were interrupted?" only to have his cell phone ring. On a heavy sigh that had his shoulders dropping, he flipped it open with, "Grissom."

When he covered the mouth of the phone and said, "Brass" before walking out the door, she turned her attention back to her work. It wasn't until hours later, when she held the finished prototype in front of her that she really looked at the clock, and jumped up.

Running down to the locker room, she found Nick and Warrick pulling on their jackets.

"Have you seen Gil? Grissom?" she asked, frantically.

Looking at each other questioning, Nick finally looked at Sara and slowly said, "No. He's out with Catherine on a case."

Heaving out a heavy breath, she sat heavily, and hopefully asked, "Greg?"

"Naw," he was out of here like a shot the minute shift ended, Warrick told her, closing his locker and yawning big. "Man, I'm exhausted." With a wave, and a "see ya" he was out the door.

Glancing over, Nick asked, "Is everything okay?"

"I need a ride home," she muttered, kicking herself for not talking to Greg earlier to beg a ride from, and her nerves fully engaged that Gil might not be there when everyone arrived for breakfast.

"Come on, Sara. I'll give you a lift," Nick said, and received a murmured, "Thanks" from a distracted brunette. His face contorting with worry, he watched his friend methodically, if not absently, retrieve her items and prepare to depart.

Looking once more at the clock, Sara prepared herself. She had an hour to get ready.

In the meanwhile, Greg showered, shaved, and changed clothes. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he picked the document off his nightstand and noticed how much heavier it seemed to weigh. Flipping open a few pages, he found Sara's testimony again, and cringed. A few pages later, he browsed through testimony from a neighbor. Closing his eyes, he shut the document.

With a heavy heart, and nerves due more to meeting Sara's mother than seeing April again, he made his way out the door, trying to steer his mind to the beautiful young computer geek he'd already half fallen for.

Sara opened the door to find a smiling Greg on the front steps, his hands jammed into his brown jacket. Her own state of nerves prevented her from seeing the battle going through his eyes, or feel the waves of anxiety pulling at him.

"Hey, Greg. Come in," she said, and led him into the living room. Pouring him a cup of coffee, she sat on the couch, and watched him take the recliner across from her. "They'll be here any minute," she murmured.

When the doorbell rang, she flinched ever so slightly, and made her way to the front door thinking, _you can do this. There's nothing to be worried about. Just because they're on your turf… there's nothing to worry about. Got it?_ Pulling open the heavy oak door, Sara plastered on a smile, and came face to face with April, Dennis, and Laura – her mother.

"Please," she said demurely. "Come in." As they made their way to the living room, she added, "Gil is running late, but should be home soon."

"On a case?" April asked.

"Yes," Sara said, "but when I talked to him awhile ago, he thought he'd be wrapping up his part of it soon. He's just sorry he's not here to greet you."

Standing, Greg spotted April, and grinned at her, then his attention fell on the man and woman in her company.

"Greg," April breathed lightly, and rushed forward to hug him. Grinning up at him, she hugged him again, her typical exuberance making him laugh. "Let me introduce you to my parents," and she led him forward a couple of steps.

"Mom, dad… this is Greg," she told them, not bothering to hide her elation. "Greg," she said, looking up at him, "these are my parents, Dennis and Laura." When she felt him tense at the mention of her mother's name, some of the lightness she felt fled. Seeking Sara's eyes, she found confirmation. _You told your friends,_ and was torn between approval and discomfort.

"April. Why don't you help me with breakfast?" Sara asked. Without waiting for a response, she turned and made her way back to the kitchen. Leaning against the counter, she watched her step-sister approach.

"You've told them," April stated. When she received a nod from the brunette, she soberly said, "Good." For a moment, the two women stood apart, assessing each other and the situation in which they found themselves, before April said, "This feels different than San Francisco." With a quiet murmur, she asked, "What's different here?"

Turning away, Sara idly picked up a kitchen towel and absently folded it. Very quietly, she said, "This is my home. These people are my family. They may know what happened, but… I'm still terrified." Hating that her eyes welled with too much emotion, she swiped her hand harshly across her eyes, and turned back to April. "I've lived with insecurity and fear my entire life. In San Francisco, I didn't have anyone to lose. Here… I have everyone to lose."

April reached over and grabbed Sara's hand. "I have a feeling your friends will stand by you no matter what," she murmured, and gave Sara a soft smile. Her eyes suddenly twinkling, she asked, "So, if you're cooking, shall we go ahead and just order in _now_ or wait for the fire alarm to go off?"

In the living room, Greg smiled softly at the sound of the two women laughing in the kitchen, and looked up to catch Dennis's gaze.

"So how long have you been a CSI?" Laura asked, grabbing his attention.

Looking towards her, he said, "A few years. I had Sara's job working DNA before that."

When she watched his gaze soften as feminine voices floated down the hall, Laura asked, "So… you spent a lot of time with April when she visited?" and watched his neck taint a hint of pink.

"Yeah," he replied, and took a sip of coffee. "I spent a great deal of time with her."

Sitting back against the couch cushions, Dennis watched the interplay between his wife and the young man across from them. While Laura tended to fret and worry, Dennis had faith that they'd taught April how to make good choices. He may worry about other stupid people in the world hurting her, but he knew his girl well. _It helps she's got family in law enforcement,_ he admitted to himself, ruefully, and went back to watching Greg.

"What kind of things do you do together?" Laura asked, trying to gauge Greg and the kind of man he was.

Feeling slightly irritated, but tolerating the question, Greg answered, "See movies. Go dancing or to listen to music. Sometimes kick back and watch TV."

Hoping for a few mute moments, Greg continued his study of Laura. He was having a hard time reconciling the quiet woman in front of him with the stoned out, neglectful woman who allowed so much pain and misery into a child's life – _her_ child's life. The life she should have watched over, cherished, but above all protected from harm. The mere thought had that odd sensation of burning anger bubbling up again, and every muscle tensing.

It was when Laura opened her mouth, and Dennis interjected, "You'll have to forgive my wife. When it comes to April, she can be a bit protective," that Greg lost it.

Slowly standing, he let the mask he'd worn fall, and felt the unfamiliar sneer steal over his face. "Protect?" Looking from one to the other, his eyes settled on Laura and he demanded in fury, "You mean the way you protected Sara?"

"Don't even go there," Dennis said, jolting up from the couch. "Don't even _think_ of going there." Standing toe-to-toe with the young man, he watched his wife pale, and her hands begin to tremble.

It was the yelling that alerted April and Sara that something was horribly wrong. Standing in the doorway to the living room, Sara glanced over to her step-sister and watched April's eyes glaze at the screaming between the men.

"You haven't got any goddamn right to say that to her," Dennis yelled. "I suggest you either leave or apologize."

"Why the hell should I? Why should I _not_ say exactly what I feel? Do you really think I give a fuck what either of you feel?" Greg demanded in return, yet thinking, _Where the hell are these words coming from?_

"April, go to the kitchen," Sara ordered. When the blond didn't move, Sara turned the young woman and gave her a nudge until her feet carried her to a retreating position. Moving rapidly into the room, purposely placing herself between the now shouting men, but neither noticed or cared.

When Grissom walked in the door a few moments later, tired, and regretting leaving his wife to deal with the stress of the day alone, he never expected to find her wrestling her way between two men. Rushing forward, he started yelling, "Stop it!" repeatedly. Rushing forward, he tried to pull Sara out of the way and interject himself into the situation.

Gil Grissom really hadn't planned on spending his morning in the emergency room.

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A/N – Would you like for me to continue? Please… let me know (the review button is right down there on the left). I'm always up for constructive criticism, so if you have some of that – by all means let me know.


	44. Chapter 44

A/N – Here you go. The next installment. I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer – Got a blank mind going on, so I'm just going to beg. Please don't sue me for warping the characters of CSI, okay? Really – I come in peace.

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"Gil, I am soooo sorry," Sara repeated, her face ashen. "I'm so sorry for that. I didn't realize you were there."

"Thara, it'th otay," Grissom said, his head tilted back as the doctor worked on reshaping his nose. "Hurt'th, though," he winced slightly and grinned wide as the ER physician used more force.

Sara moaned hearing the lisp, and prayed he'd be able to breathe and talk normally once the local anesthetic wore off.

"Just what happened?" queried the young man mildly. For the second time he found himself wondering if he should be calling the police to report a domestic.

Looking between her husband and the doctor, Sara's eyes widened, reading the physician's thoughts. Beginning to tremble at the thought of being even _suspected_ for causing physical harm to her husband, Sara forced a relaxing breath.

"My step-father and a friend were arguing," she finally stated, making sure she was concise in her verbage. Letting out a small groan and closing her eyes, she saw the scene very clearly – too clearly. "I was standing between them, trying to get them to calm down. I didn't realize my husband had come home and was walking up behind me until I turned around and rammed my forehead into his nose." Opening her eyes, she murmured, "I didn't hear him. I was going to grab some ice and shove it down my step-father's and friend's shirts."

Catching the physician's eye, she quirked a brow and said, "I figured if nothing else, the ice would cool them off." Glancing toward her husband, she muttered, "All I managed to do was break his nose with my forehead."

Lifting her hair, she showed off the bruise rapidly forming.

Whistling, he said, "Did you lose consciousness?" Leaning closer, he frowned, "Did you get dazed at all, because that looks bad."

"No," she sighed. "It just hurt when I hit him." Nodding toward Grissom, she stated, "Nowhere near as bad as _that_ must hurt."

Shifting focus back to her husband, Sara watched his hazy blue eyes, as he smiled oddly through the dried blood on his face. _Thank God the pain killer kicked in,_ she thought, _he doesn't seem to be in a ton of pain. In fact, he doesn't seem to be in any pain at all_.

Holding his hand, she looked at the large chunks of cotton stuffed up his nose, and winced yet again.

"It'th all right, dear," Grissom smiled at her, and laid his free hand over their entwined fingers. "In the wordth of Warrick, it'th all good."

Rolling her eyes as her husband slipped further under the spell of a medicine-induced haze, Sara began to doubt he would even _remember_ this conversation. Her shoulders sank, because it meant facing him again when he was totally clear headed later.

"All done," the doctor said, standing back to admire his work.

Helping him stand, Sara supported the wobbling man with her body, as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "Any instructions?" she asked, and the physician handed her a sheet of information.

"Here's a prescription for painkillers," he said, handing her the slip. At her raised eyebrows and questioning gaze, the physician smirked, "I realize they're strong, but he's going to hurt – a lot – when what he's on wears off."

Stepping away from the cubicle, he added, "He's going to _want_ the pain killers."

"Thank you," Sara replied on a breath.

Once getting him to the car and fastened into his seatbelt, Sara drove. They barely pulled away when she groaned out a deep breath and muttered, "Oh God, I hope everyone is gone when we get home," denying those same words in her mind.

When she'd carted Gil off to the hospital, blood spurting from his nose, as he'd held a dish towel over his face, he'd left a stunned group of angry people in the middle of her living room. Her greatest hope was for peace and quiet.

She hadn't realized she said it out loud until Grissom said, "It'th okay, Thara. They'll probly be gone," He then promptly closed his eyes and he grinned himself to sleep in the passenger seat.

Picking up her cell phone, Sara called the one person she knew would lend her a hand, because there was _no way_ she could lift her husband and get him to bed on her own. And even if everyone were still at her house, she just wasn't in the mood to deal with them. "Hey Nick? I need some help."

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Pulling up to the driveway, Nick found Sara sitting on the front porch, looking despondent. Her elbows rested on her knees, and her chin rested on her hands, barely holding her up as she leaned forward. Parking the truck, he approached her, and for the first time noticed the red rimmed eyes.

"Hey, Sara," he said warily, "what's going on?"

Sniffing rapidly and swiping her arm across her face, she tried to smile and failed miserably. "I need some help getting Gil inside," she stated, her voice watery.

"Where is he?" Nick quietly asked, to have Sara toss her arm out in a gesture toward the garage.

"He's passed out in the car," she told her friend, looking him in the eye. "It's my fault. He's out cold from drugs, and it's completely my fault." When the tears came, Nick sat next to her on the stone steps and wrapped an arm around here. "I should've never gone back. I should've never let anyone back into my life."

He held her for a moment as she got her emotions under control. Letting out a huffing breath, she wiped her eyes with her sleeve once more and said firmly, "Okay, let's go. We've got to get Gil to bed."

Standing, she reached a hand out for Nick, and the two made their way to the garage.

Between the two of them, they managed to life the listless Grissom, one on each side. Grissom slightly woke, muttering endearments like, "Thank you dear," and "Bedtime, honey?" into Nick's ear. Turning bright red, realizing Grissom thought he was Sara, Nick very loudly said, "HEY GRISSOM. IT'S NICK. SARA AND I ARE TAKING YOU IN THE HOUSE, OKAY?"

When Grissom grinned at him and said, "Hey Nicky, whendidyugethere," Nick couldn't help but smile in return. Chuckling, Nick realized he'd never seen Grissom anything but stone cold sober.

Glancing over at Sara, Nick's smile faded to serious and sober. It was easy to read her eyes, which were loudly saying, _If anyone else hears about this, you die_.

Once Grissom was settled on the bed, and his shoes removed, Sara sighed and laid a light blanket over her husband, making sure his head was propped high enough. Eventually, she joined Nick in the living room.

"So, do you want to talk about it?" Nick quietly asked from the couch.

Sitting heavily on the recliner, Sara leaned back and let out a heavy breath. "I broke his nose, Nick," she muttered. "I'm stepping between Greg and my step-father one minute as they're yelling at each other, and the next minute I'm driving Gil to the hospital." Closing her eyes, she whispered, "I can't believe I broke his nose."

The guilt in her voice had Nick sitting forward and saying, "Hey, Sara. It's going to be okay. He doesn't hold accidents or mistakes against anyone. For long."

"Nick, I'm his wife. The doctor questioned me, like maybe I'd done it on purpose," Opening her eyes, she sat up, panic edging her voice, "What if _Gil_ thinks I did it on purpose?"

"Sara, slow down your brain," Nick said, and smiled gently. "There's no way Grissom is going to hold this against you." Looking around the room at the coffee cups left sitting cold on various end tables, Nick's brow creased and he asked, "What happened?"

Sara rapidly barked a laugh, "I may have made the biggest mistake of my life is all." Shaking her head, she explained, "Okay… going to San Francisco and seeing my mother – meeting the family I have there – is something I will never regret. I can't. It answered questions I've had my entire life."

When Nick looked her in the eye, she said, "I really needed to take care of the ghosts around me."

At his nod, she explained, "I get nervous being around my mother, because I'm still so unsure of how or what I should feel." Pausing to organize her thoughts, she continued, "They came over for breakfast. April's moving in for a bit until she finds a place, and they got here last night. So, they came over for breakfast, and I invited Greg."

Taking a breath, Nick said, "Just take your time."

Breathing in and out very slowly, Sara finally said, "All I know is I go into the kitchen with April to try and con her into making omelets, and suddenly I'm hearing shouting. Greg actually swore at Dennis, my step-father. They're yelling at one another, and I stepped between them. I got so mad I didn't even hear Gil come in. I turned around and smacked him in the face." Lifting her hair, she closed her eyes and heard Nick's light whistle. "Exactly," she murmured. "I ran right into him."

Taking a deep gulp of air, Sara buried her head in hands and took some deep shuttering breaths.

"Hey," Nick gently said, moving to kneel beside Sara. Laying a hand on her shoulder, he said, "Hey," again. When she raised her head, he pulled her into a hug, and murmured, "You've got friends. We're your family. No matter what happens, we will _always_ be here, okay?"

Blowing out a breath, Sara found Nick's eyes with her own and gave tremulous smile, which lasted for only a partial second. "Thanks, Nick," she whispered.

Pulling back, Sara stood and started gathering up the coffee cups.

Seeing the determination to regain control in Sara's set face, Nick stood as well, helping her bring everything to the kitchen.

Walking him to the front door, Sara quietly said, "You're right, Nick. I have a family here. I also have a family in San Francisco."

Pausing, she looked out the front door at the bright afternoon, and then caught Nick's eyes again with her own stare. "Tell me how to handle all of this. Right now, I've got a husband who is going to wake up in pain and pissed off."

At Nick's raised eyebrows, Sara elaborated, "Oh, he won't show it much, but he's going to be ten steps beyond annoyed. On top of that, I have a co-worker I want to punch, and a step-sister who is supposed to be staying here. Do you see her?"

Looking around, Sara finally muttered, "And I've got a mother and step-father that may or may not even be in Vegas after the lovely _welcome_ they received."

Letting out a sigh, Sara started walking out the front door, accompanying Nick to his truck.

As he got into his vehicle, Nick leaned out the window and said, "You know, you should give yourself a break every now again."

Smiling sadly, Sara made her way into her home, and lay on the couch. Looking at the clock, she grimaced, realizing she had only enough time for a few hours sleep.

For those few hours, every worry crept forward in her mind. Questions pushed their way in, to which she had no answer. This simplest was, where were Laura, Dennis, and April? Where was Greg? They certainly hadn't been there when she arrived home.

A small voice constantly living and whispering in the back of her mind fed that cynicism, and she felt perhaps she was simply destined to have people constantly walking out of her life.

However, what truly kept her eyes propped open was a nagging question that crept up on her at her weakest moments. Feeling like that scared child once more, she wondered if she'd get to see her mother again.

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While Sara lay sleepless in worry, little did she know, Nick was on the other side of town, pounding on the door of Gregory Sanders.

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A/N – Okay… did you like it? What do you think? Good, bad, indifferent? Let me know by hitting that pretty little review button. The review button really IS pretty, isn't it?


	45. Chapter 45

A/N – I want to thank everyone for the kind reviews. Wow. Thanks!

Disclaimer – I am a slave to the television industry. They have me hooked. Does that mean CBS owns me, too?

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Greg sat on his couch, staring at nothing, and wishing he could just take it all back. The feeling of aching emptiness sat like a heavy brick in his stomach. Feeling nauseous, he suddenly threw back his second shot of vodka, and tried to lay down, only to have every nerve ending force him back up to sitting.

The knocking on the door jarred him from his dazed state, and his lead feet dragged him to the door. Swinging it open, he came face-to-face with a moving blur that immediately shoved past him.

"For God's sake, Greg! What were you thinking?" Nick demanded, his face flushed in anger. The entire drive, he kept thinking about Sara's words and the look on her face.

"Do you have any idea how much damage you've done?" Nick hissed.

Shaking his head, Greg stood, and made his way back to the couch, sitting down slowly.

"Start talking," ordered the Texan, taking a seat and for the first time really seeing Greg.

Pulling in a deep breath, Greg opened his mouth, but simply couldn't find the words. Frowning, he closed his mouth and reached out to pour himself another shot.

His eyebrows raised, Nick watched Greg throw back another shot. When he appeared to be going for another one, Nick grabbed the bottle and more quietly said, "Greg, start from the start. Tell me what's going on."

Blowing out a harsh laugh, Greg did the only thing he could. He walked into his bedroom. Returning, he dropped something in front of Nick on the coffee table, with a grunt.

Nick grabbed the document Greg had just laid in front of him, and flipped it open to the well worn pages that had obviously been read and re-read repeatedly. His eyes flashing to Greg's, Nick asked, "The trial? Sara?"

"Yeah," Greg finally replied. "Yeah, that's what she said back then."

Reading further, Nick barely made it a page before dropping the transcript and looking at Greg. "What the hell were you thinking," Nick muttered.

"I wasn't," Greg replied. "It was stupid. The whole thing was stupid, but…"

"But what?" Nick demanded.

"I was nervous about seeing April," Greg explained. "I was more nervous about meeting Sara's mother." Shaking his head, he added, "I was stupid. I read through part of the transcript before I went over there."

"Yeah, Greg. You were stupid," Nick rapidly agreed, anger heating his face. "You were stupid for acting rashly."

"Do you THINK I don't KNOW that Nick?" Stomping across the room, Greg set the bottle of vodka on the breakfast bar, and turned to face his friend. "Do you really think I would do something to purposely hurt Sara? Or April?"

Breathing out slow, Nick wiped a hand across his face and stood. "I just left Sara questioning everything. She's blaming herself for everything that happened, and in general feeling miserable."

As Greg's face paled, Nick added, "Yeah… miserable. She's been through enough by now, don't you agree?"

Slowly, the Texan made his way to the front door. He only had one thing left to say before he walked out.

"Fix it, Greg. I don't care how. Just fix it."

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Sara lay on the couch, every part of her eventually going numb from too much emotion and crushing fatigue, when she heard an extremely loud grunt come from the bedroom. Rushing in, she stared as her husband moaned and lay back.

His eyes still closed, Grissom reached up and gingerly felt his nose. Everything came back in a rush, and he let out a breath. Tentatively, he opened his eyes, and saw his wife. Tears ran down her face.

"Do you need another pill?" she quietly asked, avoiding his eyes.

"No, dear," he responded, slowly swinging his feet over the side of the bed and pushing himself into a sitting position. When he held out a hand, she hesitantly stepped forward, until his strong grasp propelled her to him.

Her tense shoulders slumped, and she carefully sat next to him, finally meeting his blue gaze. "You have no idea how sorry I am," she whispered softly with a watery voice. Ferociously wiping away the tears with her hands, she stared at his slightly swollen lip, very swollen nose, and finally… his black eyes.

"It's okay, Sara," he replied, "It was an accident." His attempt to smile turned into a wince, and he asked, "Why don't you come help me clean up," and he stood very slowly to keep his head from spinning.

After helping him up, he pulled her in for a hug. "Help me take a shower," he said, breaking the tense moment with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Chuckling, she led him to the bathroom.

It took ten minutes of Sara cautiously and gently wiping his face to get the last of the dried blood off his upper lip and nose. All of this was done in silence, until she murmured, "You've got two black eyes."

Gently, she ran a thumb over the dark bruises under his eyes, and sighed, "Your beautiful eyes…"

When he leaned forward, he tilted his head cautiously, moving his nose out of the way. Whispering his lips over hers, he delved deep.

Grissom spent the contents of the entire hot water heater showing his wife how little he blamed her for the current state of his face. In the meanwhile, Sara let the deep ache fade away long enough to let him overwhelm her senses.

Feeling amazingly satisfied and limber, Sara searched for pants. For awhile, she felt a lot lighter and flushed in thought. Glancing at her husband's back, she smirked, thinking, _Obviously, the broken nose hasn't slowed him down __**that**__ much._

Grissom flipped through his closet, trying to find a button-up shirt. The mere thought of pulling a shirt over his head, and thus his face, was too daunting. Finally finding the burnt red shirt she loved so much, he dressed, glancing to see her dig through the dresser.

Coming up behind her, he wrapped an arm around her waist and she straightened. "It really _is_ okay, Sara." Grinning ruefully, he murmured, "I should have told you I was there instead of just stepping in."

"Hmmm…" she replied. "Perhaps next time you should shout 'LVPD' before joining the fray."

Letting out a husky chuckle, she turned and kissed him. When the need to touch again sank into her bones, she began to explore, her heart pounding erratically. The wince caught her off guard, and she pulled back slightly.

"Maybe we should get dressed," she murmured on a smile, her lips just above his, and moved away from the heat in search of the rest of her clothes.

Eventually, hand in hand, he led her into the living room and snuggled up on the couch. It was still fairly early, and while Grissom felt awake, the medication had left him a little fuzzy.

"So, Sara. I remember what I saw of the whole thing," Grissom said. When he trapped her eyes with his own, he said, "I remember the emergency room and the doctor. Had I not felt so… uninhibited… ummm… out of it… I would have defended you a little more."

"Can we call in sick tonight?" she determinedly asked, steering the conversation from the hospital in general, and then yawning from getting absolutely no sleep.

"Honey, we already have the night off," he smiled, leaning his head down to lay his cheek against her curls.

Some of the weight dropped back on her shoulders, and she murmured, "That's right. We were supposed to be spending the evening with Laura, Dennis, and April."

When he felt her tense, Grissom wove his fingers in hers and whispered, "The only thing I can come up with is 'That which does not kill us makes us stronger'."

At her chuckle, he pulled her close, and flipped on the television. At one point he glanced down, and her eyes were closed. Her rhythmic breathing indicated she was asleep, as did the lax muscles. He was surprised when she mumbled, "I should call April."

"Not tonight," he whispered. "Let's just sit here. I want to spend some time in your company, my dear."

"Recite something to me?" she asked.

Closing his eyes, he spoke,

"_Love seeketh not Itself to please,  
Nor for itself hath any care;  
But for another gives its ease,  
And builds a Heaven in Hells despair. _

So sang a little Clod of Clay,  
Trodden with the cattle's feet;  
But a Pebble of the brook,  
Warbled out these metres meet.

Love seeketh only Self to please,

To bind another to Its delight:  
Joys in anothers loss of ease,  
And builds a Hell in Heavens despite." 

Sighing, she murmured, "William Blake," and felt him smile.

"Love is beautiful and kind," he whispered gently, and paused. Then he added, "Sometimes it's harsh and greedy. Give it time, and eventually you'll find your balance."

Tilting her head, she opened her eyes and smiled, "You may have a point. However, it took us seven years."

Thoughtfully, he replied, "True, but we were alone, trying to figure out what we were doing. We were often dense about the whole thing, dancing around each other." When her eyes closed, he whispered, "We found each other. You're not alone in this."

Awhile later, Grissom had just flipped over to the science channel, when they heard the doorbell ring. Since, by this time, Sara was half laying on top of Grissom in that restful state between asleep and awake, she groaned, and said, "Stay where you are, Gil. I'll get it."

Making her way to the front door with a yawn, she slowly opened it.

The detached mask fell into place, and Sara's voice took on a low even tone when she said, "Hello, Greg."

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So? Whaddya think? Does it work for you? Hit that friendly little review button, and let me know. Thanks for reading… and reviewing!


	46. Chapter 46

A/N – Okay, this is kind of a short one, but I wanted to get it posted, and the conversation is going to be more involved than I want to write tonight. So, here you go. I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer – CBS is a mega-empire… kinda like MegaTron. Hey, does that mean that CBS is a transformer? Since transformers are aliens, are they even ALLOWED to own TV shows? And if they're not ALLOWED to own TV shows, then who owns CSI? Can I?

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"Can I help you, Greg?" Sara asked, raising an eyebrow.

He'd been nervous before coming to Sara and Grissom's house, but he was a wreck at that particular moment, actually having to face her. Looking down, kicking the toe of his shoe on the cement, he mumbled, "Can I come in?"

Contemplating for a moment, Sara finally stepped back and wordlessly motioned with a single wave in.

Following her down the hall to the living room, Greg winced. He was nervous about talking to Sara, and terrified of talking to Sara in front of Grissom. The sight of Grissom's two eyes with black bruises smudged below them, the tape and obvious bruise across his swollen nose made him outright cringe, and the ache in Greg's gut doubled.

"Sit, Greg," Grissom quietly said. On his way past Sara, he murmured, "I'll get coffee."

Once Sara reseated herself on the couch across from the young CSI, she tiredly asked, "Why are you here, Greg?"

He was saved from answering when the doorbell abruptly rang again.

Rising, she sighed, "Stay right here," and proceeded once again to the front door. Swinging it open, she stopped in her tracks and hesitantly asked, "What are you doing here, too?"

Stepping forward, Laura stood straight up in front of her daughter and clearly voiced, "We're here to talk, and apologize."

Rocking back on her heels, Sara was left with a dilemma, and finally said, "Greg's here." Exhausted from no sleep and too much drama, tears welled, and she choked out, "I'm not sure I can handle another fight tonight, so..."

Reaching forward and laying her hand on Sara's shoulder, at first tentatively, Laura smiled, and said, "That's okay, sweetheart. Greg called on his way over here and asked us to come." On those words, she moved past Sara, uninvited.

Several minutes later, Sara still stood in front of the open door. That's where Grissom found her.

Standing behind her, he wrapped an arm around her waist, and rested his chin on her shoulder. "Is there a reason you're standing here alone?"

"I'm considering making a break for it," she mumbled, and felt him chuckle.

It wasn't until she reached over and listlessly flung the door closed that she stepped away from him and turned. He was given a chance to see that she wasn't joking, and the smile fell from his lips. The sincerity in her eyes had him stepping forward and pulling her close. For several minutes, she just clung, until she felt herself settle and breathe deep.

Releasing his warmth, she held his hand down the hall. Detouring into the kitchen, Grissom picked up the coffee tray and carried it behind his wife.

Walking into the living room, Sara stopped short. While she stared, Grissom murmured from behind her, "Dear, I need you to move, so I can put the tray down." Carefully holding the heavy object, Grissom shifted. When she still hadn't moved, he took a moment to glance around her.

On the couch, Greg and April sat stiffly, not talking, one on each end. Relaxed in the recliners, Dennis and Laura spoke across an end table to one another.

Stepping further into the room, conveying a false sense of confidence, Sara watched as Greg and April stood upon seeing her. Pulling out a couple of chairs from the folding table that held Sara's jigsaw puzzle, they took a seat near the sliding glass door, leaving the expanse of the couch to Sara, while Grissom settled the tray and delivered coffee.

Her back ramrod straight, shoulders back, in a stance very familiar to anyone who knew her, Sara took a shuddering breath, confused by the interaction of the people in the room.

Sitting next to her, Grissom gripped her hand, feeling trembling tension run in waves, and whispered in her ear, "_All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players_. Hold onto me. I'm in the audience with you."

Standing simultaneously, Greg and Dennis both started, "Sara," and looked at one another. When Greg turned toward Dennis, he murmured, "I started this. I should fix it."

"Both of you sit down. Now," Sara ordered them, her eyes daring them to argue.

Looking at Grissom, Sara's eyes spoke volumes, _I couldn't control what happened, but I __**will**__ be controlling this._

Through several minutes of tension flowing through the room, Sara sipped at her coffee. Meanwhile, Grissom thought about the one single point of contention _he_ had in the entire ordeal. By unspoken agreement, they'd never really raised their voices, except in play. Jokingly, they might yell mild insults during an all night strip poker game or while playing scrabble, but they never yelled in anger. Grissom knew her fears, and she knew her own.

"This is our home," she finally said in a strong voice, meeting the eyes of everyone in the room, until they locked on her husbands, _this is the only home I've ever known_.

Looking to Greg and Dennis, she added, "Either of you could have walked away." In his mind Grissom could hear, _this is supposed to be a safe place_.

Looking around the room, she sighed, "Yet you're all here. No one seems to be fighting. Does it take someone getting their nose broken to make you see reason and be calm?"

Grissom hid a wince, because what he heard was, _do people have to be hurt before you stop?_

When he looked over to Laura, he saw the woman's eyes go bleak, and thought, _good, you picked up on that, too_.

"Do I have to break another person's nose to get you to stop?"

This time, Grissom saw it in the eyes of Sara's mother, _do I have to feel ashamed for what goes on in my own home?_ Smiling at the older woman, Grissom nodded slightly, and saw Laura reciprocate.

"This will never happen again. Is that understood?" she demanded, more than asked of the occupants of the room.

Grissom couldn't help but grin when he not only heard Greg murmur, "Yes, ma'am," but Dennis, as well. The man was nearly seventy years old, and had been set down by his own step-daughter, whom he'd only known for a handful of months.

Leaning into the cushions a bit, Sara began unhurriedly sipping her coffee, and Grissom covertly categorized what he knew of Dennis.

While Grissom didn't know Dennis extremely well, having only been in his company a few times, he knew Dennis to be generally laid back. He also knew the older man could easily and accurately judge a situation, with a tendency to not judge people. Grissom didn't recall feeling all that uncomfortable under Dennis's scrutiny in San Francisco, and certainly did not now. What seemed to be lacking in the older man's eyes was the sense of humor that was usually present.

Shifting his focus back to Laura, Grissom eyed the woman in her mid sixties. Sitting back in the recliner, he watched Laura as she watched Sara. For the briefest moment, until she realized she was being observed, the sense of longing in the woman's face was plain.

However, when she looked over to Grissom, he had to smile as he saw the detached mask of steel close over her face. _I was right the last time I saw you, when I told Dennis you and Sara are a lot alike_, floated through his mind.

His hand still linked with Sara's, he gave it a quick squeeze. When she glanced over, a curious frown on her face, he winked, and saw the muscles in her neck relax just a bit.

The tension in the room didn't seem to be thinning, but rather getting more intense. However, he had no intention of stepping into the situation, unless asked. Rather, Grissom was gaining a better understanding of the dynamics through the group, just seeing the contacts made, or in the case of April and Greg, not made.

The two youngest of the gathering seemed to be avoiding each other during the taught quiet, and Grissom could only wonder at the cause. He had his favored theory…

Finally standing, while keeping a grip on Grissom's hand, Sara decided on a course of action.

Setting a scowl on her face – the same one most of the guys at work were afraid of – Sara finally asked, "Just what the hell happened while April and I were in the kitchen, and then after Gil and I left for the hospital?"

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A/N - "All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players" is from Shakespeare's_ As You Like It._

A/N – Hmmm… see that sexy little review button down there? Go ahead and press it to leave me a note. (I've been writing these authors notes waaayyyy too often. At this rate, the review button and login link are going to be having a flaming affair before long.)


	47. Chapter 47

A/N – Okay, here we go. Another chapter. I hope you like it. Please let me know what you think. It was by far the hardest chapter to write. Thanks for reading!

Disclaimer – Since I now own a couple of seasons on DVD, doesn't that make me partial owner of the show, and as such, partial owner of the characters? Or am I totally wrong?

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Blowing out a long breath, Greg quietly said, "It was my fault. I should explain"

"No," Laura firmly stated with a scowl. When every eye turned to her, she continued, "I'll explain."

"It started with a comment made by Dennis," she explained, keeping her gaze on Sara. "He made a comment about me being protective of April. Greg took exception."

Taking a calming breath, Laura looked toward Greg, whose head hung slightly down. To the room in general and Sara specifically Laura said, "I missed out on watching my little girl grow up. They brought you to see me once or twice a month for awhile, and every time you had changed. One day, you showed up and were this gangly teenager, but so withdrawn."

"That must have been difficult," Grissom murmured.

"More than you can imagine," Laura sighed, meeting her son-in-law's eyes. "The visits became fewer and farther between, and then she went off to college on the other side of the country." Pausing to collect her thoughts, she finally continued, "When I was released from prison… "

Shifting focus back to her daughter, Laura murmured, "I hadn't heard from you since before you graduated from high school. I figured you didn't want to be found."

Seeing Sara flush and look away, Laura leaned forward, bringing herself just a hint closer to her child, "I missed you, but I didn't want to mess up anything you'd built for yourself." A grimace accompanied, "If I were being honest, I'd say I was too scared."

Slowly looking to her husband, Laura smiled, "Then one day I met this man, who made me laugh; and for quite some time, I was so caught up in the past, I wouldn't even think about moving forward. He challenged me to move on with my life and stop living in shadows I couldn't change."

Reaching out, Dennis lightly picked up Laura's hand with a wink.

A gentle smile on her face, Laura turned back to Sara, "He had this daughter, though. She was nearly the same age as you when you were put into foster care. It terrified me, but thrilled me."

An apologetic look at April, Laura said, "I never used you as a replacement. Not ever. But I can't deny the pleasure I took in watching you grow into the intelligent young woman you are now, and wondering what it would have been like seeing Sara grow."

Shifting her focus back to Sara, Laura stated, "This morning, Dennis made a comment about me being protective of April. Greg got angry. Very angry. He said a few things. Perhaps there was a better way to say it, or perhaps not. It's irrelevant."

Too revved from the discussion to, Laura paced over to Greg.

When she frowned at him, Greg's mouth dropped open with the thought was _dear God, that's the look Sara gives me when she's pissed._ He also felt the same waves of discomfort as she held the stare, until he gave in and broke eye contact.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Laura looked from Greg, then swung her head around to Dennis and said, "Sara was right. Either one of you could have walked away from the argument."

Turning back toward her daughter, she more softly added, "And I could have stepped in."

Returning to her seat, she reached out and clasped Dennis's hand. "I love that you would try and defend me, but I don't need defending. I am not fragile. I am _not_ about to break or fall apart, so please don't treat me as such."

For a moment, Grissom was struck by the same conversation he and Sara had not long ago, and suppressed a grimace.

Leaning back, Laura took a small sip of her coffee to clear her parched throat. "The fact is Greg said what was on his mind." Smiling, she added, "I have to admire that, although some of the language he used could have been more appropriate."

Sara blinked about a dozen times, looked at Grissom, and frowned. Draining her cup, she looked back at her mother. The frown deepening, she muttered, "It still doesn't tell me what happened after we left."

"Actually, you missed the best part of the show," Dennis muttered under his breath, unintentionally being heard by his wife, who chuckled. A little more loudly he said, "After April laid into Greg, and Laura laid into me, we worked it out."

"We talked," Laura clarified. "Greg apologized. Dennis apologized."

"They deserved the lectures," Laura casually added. "Both of them got far too out of hand far too quickly."

When the room went silent, everyone looked at Sara. When she opened her mouth to speak, no words came out. When the frown turned to a deep scowl, Grissom squeezed the hand he had not let go of since he sat down earlier. Leaning over, he whispered very quietly into her ear, "We can call it a night if you want," and was rewarded with a non-committal grunt.

"No one was here when we got home," Sara finally accused. Mumbling, "Someone could've left a damn note," she disconnected her hand from Grissom's and walked over to the side table with the coffee tray. Pouring herself another cup, she turned to the couch.

Missing the bare heat her husband's hand had provided in keeping her centered, Sara muttered, "Scoot," heard him reply, "Yes, dear," and watched him slide into the corner of the couch. Once settled back, she snuggled into him and sighed. A glance up and she found his blue orbs about as foggy with fatigue as her brown.

"It must have been a hell of an apology," Sara eventually said, and nodded toward Greg.

Feeling heat creep up his neck, Greg quietly cleared his throat. When Sara finally looked at him, he said, "I apologized, because I had no right to yell at either one of them. I told them this."

"Then why did you?" Sara asked. "I can understand being annoyed with another person, but why on _earth_ would you just go off? The only reason I'm not up kicking your butt is because I'm too tired, and this is not how you normally act."

All the while she was thinking, _Actually, __**I'm**__ prone to act this way,_ and finally said, "Explain."

Letting out a controlled lungful of air, Greg picked up his backpack he'd thrown in the corner. Unzipping it quickly, he gave Sara a tense smile that seemed to stop in the pallor of his cheeks. When he pulled out a folder, she sat up and a little too quietly said, "Greg? Did I not tell you to destroy that?"

"Yeah, you did," he readily agreed, avoiding her eyes. "You told me to destroy it when I was done with it."

Sara closed her eyes and counted _1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10, Nope not working_ before glaring at the young man. When he said, "I'm not done with it," Sara groaned.

Laura's eyes fluttered a bit in thought. Her gut instinct told her Greg held the transcript she'd given Sara, and she wasn't sure whether to be upset that her daughter was handing around the document. Releasing a small breath, she thought, _It's Sara's decision to do with it what she wants._

Quickly popping it into his pack, he finally looked Sara in the eyes, when he said, "I still don't understand. I feel like I need to, but I still don't."

"Why would you want to?" Sara asked. "Why would _anyone_ want to understand something like that?"

"My mom coddled me and protected me. She couldn't stand the thought that I might get hurt or sick. Your mom…" Greg soberly trailed off. More strongly he stated, "I want to understand what happened."

Laura watched the interplay between Sara and Greg, and finally said, "I think Dennis and I are going to call it a night." She had a feeling she knew what was coming next, and felt it best to she and Dennis not be there. As far as Laura was concerned, if she were correct in her predictions, this matter belonged to the four occupants of the room.

Picking up her jacket, Laura looked around and said, "If there's one thing I've learned over the last twenty five years, it's that the past cannot be changed. Regardless of the mistakes made, the future is waiting, and _it_ is where we make our lives."

Specifically to Greg, she added, "I'm doing everything in my power to not allow my history to control me. I suggest you think about what is more important – shadows and ghosts or flesh and blood."

When Dennis quietly said, "We'll call you tomorrow," he received a nod from Sara and a smile from Grissom, who sat half-trapped under the weight of his wife.

Before leaving, Laura looked at Sara and said, "Ask him again. You deserve a real answer to your question."

Before walking out the door, Laura heard Sara ask the question once more, "Why do you need to understand what happened to me?"

As Dennis stepped outside and down the steps, Laura paused. Her instincts were confirmed when she heard Greg reply, "Because I love you."

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A/N – Okay, the login link just broke up with the Review button, and now the Review button is really sad. They had an argument about whether or not it's against lab policy to have a relationship with someone you work with. I've been consoling it all day, but the only time the Review button stops crying is when someone actually clicks on it and submits a review. Come on… cheer up the Review button.


	48. Chapter 48

A/N – Okay, here we go again. I hope I did this chapter justice. Drop a review and let me know.

A/N 2 – This chapter hasn't been beta'd. It's barely been re-read. I apologize for any typos, etc.

Disclaimer – My dogs do not own CSI. CBS does.

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"Greg, you'd better mean that in a 'friends with NO benefits' kind of way," Sara muttered, sitting up straight on the couch.

"I think you were my first love," he said quietly, turning a faint pink on that admission.

"And on that note," Grissom interjected, "April, we're going out to dinner."

Turning so only his wife could see his beleaguered and battered face, he gave her a quick, genuine grin, and wink

As April slung on her jacket, Grissom dug into his pockets and handed her some keys with, "I'm still a little fuzzy and my face hurts like hell. You're driving." The two headed out to the car.

Watching her husband leave with her sister, Sara scooted into the corner of the couch and sat up straight, while Greg took the opportunity to take a seat closer to her.

"I think you'd better start talking," Sara said, weariness tingeing her voice.

Turning a darker pink, he more clearly said, "Actually, I _know_ you were my first love," and watched the frown play across her face.

"Do you remember the go-cart case?" he asked, and Sara nodded in response. "Nick asked me if I'd known about you and Grissom. I pretty much told him yes."

Surprise on her face, Sara stared at him, waiting for Greg to continue.

A slight smile graced his features when he said, "I was infatuated with you – everything about you – for the first year or so after you came here." Taking a sip of his coffee, he added, "Then one day I sat there and watched you watching Grissom, and every now and again, I'd see him watching you."

Frowning, she muttered, "We weren't together back then."

"_That much_ was obvious," Greg contemplatively stated. "The two of you played this nice little dance for quite some time." His forehead creased as he thought back to the day years ago he found Grissom staring at Sara, as she walked down the hall. "It was pretty obvious it was the two of you. He gets this spark in his eyes when he sees you… let's just say that if anyone had been really looking, it would have been apparent."

Smiling slightly, Sara murmured, "Yeah?" causing Greg to really laugh for the first time that night.

Shaking his head, he replied, "Yeah. He's crazy about you, and once I figured that out, I knew I didn't stand a chance. I even tried avoiding you, which lasted for about half a shift."

"You never said a word," Sara said, smiling at him. "Not once did you ever tell me any of this."

"Christ, Sara. I flirted with you mercilessly, and came close to begging more than once for you to go out with me," he said, rolling his eyes, and then fiercely frowned. "Damn, I think I actually _did_ beg you to go out with me."

"You know I've always seen you like a friend, right?" she asked.

"I know," he smiled. "Once I got over the heartache, I got to know the Sara I know today. Somewhere along the way, your friendship has become the most honest relationship I've ever had."

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"I already ate," April said, pulling out onto the street.

"Okay," Grissom replied, looking at the clock, noting it was only nine o'clock. "When you get to the stop sign, take a right. There's someone I want you to meet."

For awhile, they drove, with Grissom giving directions. Finally pulling into a circular drive, April looked at him questioningly. Without a word, he exited the car, and April joined him.

Making their way through the front door, April asked, "Why are we at Haven View Center?" and a moment later, the confusion on her face evident, she asked, "What is this place?"

"Wait a moment, and you will find out," Grissom said, stopping at a small reception area.

The woman at the desk looked at him oddly, taking in the bruising and swelling around his nose, until recognition overcame her features and she smiled, "Mr. Alder is in her room."

Making their way down the hall, he explained, "Sara sometimes gets too involved. In some cases, she can't seem to let go of the victim." Softly tapping on a door, Grissom and April stood in the hall and waited, until it creaked open a crack.

The ebony face that greeted them broke into a big grin and immediately fell to concern at the sight of Grissom's banged up face. Opening the door wide, he said, "Pammie. Dr. Grissom is here." Looking past the visitors, he asked, "Where's Sara?" a slight line of worry crossing his face.

"She couldn't make it tonight, but I'm sure she'll be by soon," Grissom said, stepping in and making introductions. "April, this is Thomas Alder. Thomas, this is Sara's sister April."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Thomas said, taking her hand. "A true pleasure." Pulling her farther into the room, he moved back a curtain to reveal the woman in the hospital bed, hooked up to tubes and monitors. "April, this is my wife Pam."

For fifteen minutes, Grissom chatted with Thomas Alder, until conversation ran out and he thought, _Sara's so much better at this than I am._

Making their way back to the vehicle, April got behind the wheel and laid her palms out on the steering wheel. Looking back at the entrance, she finally asked, "Does Sara come here often?"

"Once a month or so. This was one of her cases that didn't end well, to which she got emotionally attached. I knew she was visiting them here, so when she left for San Francisco, I started visiting on her behalf. I didn't want Thomas or Pam to think they were forgotten," Grissom explained.

Turning on the engine, April looked at Grissom and quietly asked, "Where to now?"

Closing his eyes in thought, he replied, "Take a left. I'll direct you as we go."

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"The problem with growing up an only child of over-protective parents is that you never really get to experience a lot of things," Greg said, thoughtfully. "When I came to Vegas, I felt like I was running away from home. I was free from my parents."

Smirking, Sara sipped her coffee and eventually poured herself a bit more.

"Seriously, Sara. I didn't experience much. I dated. I had fun. I never fell in love or had anyone I was really serious about, until you came along," he stated. "I never felt this strongly about a friendship before, either."

"Your friendship has always meant a lot to me, too, Greg," Sara quietly stated.

"Somewhere along the way, you became more than just a friend, though," Greg stated. "You're family to me. I don't mean like the strange family we've sort of formed at the lab, I mean real family. At times, you've given advice, and others you've just held my hand. If I made mistakes, you helped me through it. _You_ were the one to show up and spend time with me in the hospital, both times."

"Of course I spent time with you at Desert Palms, you idiot," she retorted. "I couldn't stand seeing you in that much pain."

"See? You love me, too," he affirmed, scooting closer to her.

An exaggerated mock sigh later, Sara said, "Yeah. You're like the little brother I never wished I had," and scooted closer to him on the couch.

"Actually, that's kind of how I see you," Greg said, his face going sober. "I see you like a sister."

"Good, so I don't have to worry that when you look at me you see me naked?" Sara laughed.

"I never said that," Greg smirked, and listened to her groan. "On the other hand, there's someone else I've been visualizing naked lately," and he watched the groan turn to a wince.

"TMI, Greg. TMI."

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Grissom's directions eventually led them to a small cemetery. Pulling in the lane, Grissom got out and made his way up the dimly lit path, making a mental note to call and have a path light replaced. With April in escort, he walked in a couple of rows.

The light from the path provided faint illumination to the headstone. In the cold, a bouquet of wildflowers lay wilting on the ground over the grave.

_Suzanna Kirkwood_

_Beloved, Beautiful Daughter_

_Taken Too Soon_

"The flowers were probably left by Sara in the last day or two," Grissom murmured. Catching April's gaze, he said, "Sara talks to them sometimes." Laying his hand respectfully on the grave marker, he closed his eyes and remembered the tears in Sara's eyes when they'd arrived too late to help the teenage girl. They'd all felt like they'd failed her. It was Sara that spoke to the girl's parents weeks later, giving her condolences.

"Come on," he murmured, and headed back to the car.

It wasn't until after they'd made the stop for vegetarian take-out and were nearly home that April finally asked, "I don't understand. Why are you showing me this?"

Turning his head, he found the smile easily when he replied, "A lot of people love Sara. She gives a lot of herself to a lot of people, willingly and with no strings attached."

Pulling into the garage, April turned off the engine. Tentatively, she asked, "Gil? Do you think Greg's really in love with Sara?" and watched his smile widen into something more playful.

"I have no doubt he probably felt that way years ago, but they act like siblings, and whether she recognizes it or not, that's how Sara sees him," Grissom replied. "And I also think this is a discussion you should be having with Greg, not me."

Stepping into the hall, April held up several bags and shouted, "We come in peace, and bring food."

"We're in here," came Greg's laughing response. Sound asleep, Sara lay slightly drooling on a cushion, while Greg tossed popcorn in his mouth and stared at the television. "Glad you're home, though," he said. "She nodded off about five minutes ago, and I have to get to work."

Standing, he slung on his jacket, and grabbed a bag out of April's hand. When she swatted at him, he leaned down and soberly asked, "Is there any way you can pretend today didn't happen?"

Shaking her head 'no', she replied, "I think we need to talk first. However, you can take me out to breakfast after shift. I'm staying here until I get my own place, so let me know when you get off."

"Sure," he replied, playfully whispered into her ear, "I can let you know when I get off," and watched her face burst in color, followed by her laugh.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Sanders," she continued laughing as he made his way out the door with a quick wave.

Watching him leave, April turned back to Grissom and Sara with "She's had a rough couple of days." Looking at the bags of food, she watched her brother-in-law run his fingers through Sara's hair, and smiled. "I'll put these in the fridge, and then I'm off to bed."

Absently, Grissom turned and said, "Thanks," before turning back to his wife.

He'd been toying with strands of her hair, but she didn't wake until his fingers stroked her cheek. Smiling up at him, she said, "Hey Gil. You were gone for awhile."

Standing, she stretched, and he wrapped his arms around her waist. Leaning in for a kiss, the unintended whimper in her throat gave way to his moan, and they separated. Hand in hand, they made their way to bed and each other.

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Pulling out of the driveway, Greg felt pretty good. He and Sara had never really talked about their relationship, and he'd never really had a chance to tell you how _much_ she meant to him. A grin gracing his face, he made the drive into the city towards the lab.

Little did he know how truly strange his night would turn out to be.

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A/N – Okay, all the kind comments seem to have cheered up the Review button. However, she keeps sighing and staring up at the Login link (which is slightly freaking me out). I'm not one for meddling, but I think a few words of encouragement to the Review button might just nudge her to go up and have a serious discussion with Login. So, please leave Review a kind note.


	49. Chapter 49

A/N – Here we go. Sorry it's short, but it's all I had time to write. I wanted to write something a little lighter. Let me know what you think.

Disclaimer – CSI is owned by CBS. The drama of the Login link and Review button belong to me.

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When Grissom's cell phone rang, Sara wasn't surprised. It being a natural occurrence, she merely grunted and rolled over to drool on the other side of her pillow, while he reached over and groaned. However, when he nudged her in the back and muttered, "Izz yurz" in her ear, she slapped her hand on the night stand, feeling around.

Bleary eyes, she flipped the top of the cell with a bark, "This better be good."

Being semi-awake, Grissom huffed a breath of resignation and sat up a little, peering at his wife. When the irritation turned to a frown, and then fear, he sat up further and reached for her hand.

"Okay, Nicky. Hold on. If Greg's in the hospital, why are you laughing?" she suddenly asked, and Grissom reached for his own cell as it rang.

Taking a moment to look at the caller ID, he flipped it open, "What's going on, Catherine? Nick already called," he grunted.

Hanging up almost simultaneously, Sara breathed, "I'm going to the hospital."

"I know, honey," Grissom said, as they rapidly dressed.

The drive to the hospital consisted of silence, nervous flipping of stations, and more silence.

"It's going to be all right," Grissom said. "According to Catherine, Greg wasn't hurt too badly."

Pulling into the Emergency Room parking lot, Grissom and Sara made their way rapidly to the waiting room. While Catherine had opted to take over at the scene, Nick had accompanied Greg in the ambulance. Thus, Sara and Grissom were not surprised to find Nick expectantly watching for them.

The first thing Nick noticed when his boss quickly paced into the waiting area was the sweats and t-shirt Grissom wore. Having never seen Grissom wear anything but work attire, Nick wasn't aware his boss even _owned_ anything casual. That Sara wore similar attire, including one her husband's large sweatshirts, didn't faze him at all.

Grumbling mildly, Sara said, "Take us to Greg. Now," while Grissom scowled.

"Okay," Nick replied, leading them to a familiar cubicle.

Leaning slightly toward his wife, Grissom whispered, "Isn't this the same cubicle _I_ was in yesterday?" and watched her neck flush.

Stepping behind the curtain, Sara saw Greg sitting up, and groaned, "Dear God, not again."

"Hey… Thara. Good drugth hewe. Vewy happy wight now," Greg wobbled to his feet, only to have a very familiar doctor order, "Mr. Sanders, please stay seated."

When the physician saw Sara, he murmured, "Mrs. Grissom, please tell me you didn't break _his_ nose, too?"

Her mouth dropped open for a moment, but she collected herself and replied, "No, sir."

"Actually, it happened at a crime scene," Nick interjected, pulling out his credentials. Looking at Grissom, he continued, "Brass is on his way over, so I need to wait for him so I can give a statement."

Walking over to grab Greg's hand, Sara squeezed and sat down next to him on the hospital bed. "How're you doing, Greg?"

"Dwugs awe helping a bit," Greg slurred through the cotton rolls stuffed up his nose and slight swelling on his upper lip.

"You and Gil are going to be the death of me," Sara muttered lowly.

"Is someone going to tell me what happened tonight?" Grissom drolly enquired, "or must I go to the crime scene?"

"If it's okay, Brass is on his way over," Nick stated. "I'd prefer to wait so I don't have to repeat my statement."

Leading Grissom to a coffee vending machine, Nick sighed, "Brass should be here soon. Honest to God, I don't think I've ever seen anything like what happened tonight."

Standing in the lobby, waiting for swill-like coffee to drip into a cup, Nick waved rapidly, and Grissom glanced over to see Jim Brass saunter over – and stop dead, with an unreadable expression crossed between amusement and curiosity.

"What the hell happened to your face, Gil," Brass asked?

"You really don't want to know," Grissom mumbled in response, then heaved a breath and gave in. "Come on. I'll take you over to Greg," Grissom said, and gave a modified version of events that led to his own broken nose and black eyes.

Walking into the cubicle containing Greg, Sara, and the physician, Brass pushed back the curtain even further and let out an exaggerated smile. Giving Greg a sarcastic grin, and then drawing Nick into his line of sight, Brass casually asked, "So, boys… would one of you two care to explain to me precisely," his volume increasing tremendously, "WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?"

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A/N – The Login link has now spent long hours adoringly looking into the purple eyes of the Review button. The Review button just keeps sighing, watching the Login link's handsome underline, wondering why Login is such an idiot. So what if Login is a little older, and has more experience than Review? Review surely doesn't care.


	50. Chapter 50

A/N – Okay, I'm going to take on something of a challenge and work on writing more complete (aka longer) chapters. I got to thinking about it, and I think it will help the story stay a bit more fluid, and less jolting. (Thanks, angsty, for the suggestion.)

A/N 2 – Hey! I made it to Chapter 50!

Disclaimer – CBS owns CSI.

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When Brass shouted, Nick jolted and snapped to attention, feeling somewhat like his drill sergeant had just issued a screaming command. Looking at Greg and_knowing_ no support would come from that direction, Nick thought, _stick with the facts. We're not screwed if we stick with the facts_. This was immediately followed by, _who am I kidding? We're just plain screwed._

"I suppose I'd better start from the beginning," Nick soberly stated, his back ramrod straight. Clasping his hands behind him, he asked everyone, "Are you familiar with the string of burglaries Greg and I are investigating?"

While Brass shook his head, and stated, "No,"

Grissom and Sara replied, "Of course."

"Then let me fill you in," Nick murmured to Brass, and proceeded to explain detail information.

Truth be told, Grissom hadn't given the case much thought, considering it seemed simple enough. It consisted of two burglaries – hardly a string – around older shops of Las Vegas, connected by fingerprints, and the fact that nothing was stolen. Instead, a simple note was left at each scene. Of the recent crimes, it had been moved fairly low on the priority list, although he'd heard Greg grumble about it a few times. More than once in the past couple weeks, Grissom had found Greg the case file open, trying to make sense of motive.

Of course, Grissom's response had been, "We're not here to find motive. We're here to examine the evidence."

"Explain how it connects to Greg's broken nose," Grissom ordered, only to have Brass raise a hand stopping the Texan.

"I have a simpler question," Brass stated. "I would just _love_ to know why you and Greg felt you needed to get to the crime scene _before_ the police cleared it."

Having gained Grissom's full attention on that revelation, Brass swung his head over to glance at Sara, and noticed a dangerous glint in her eye. _She's pissed,_ Brass thought, and held in a surprised chuckle. Of everyone in the room, he'd felt she would be the least likely to jump on a co-worker for going overboard. _Now perhaps __**she**__ understands how __**we**__ feel when she puts __**herself**__ in the line,_ Brass thought, and turned his attention to the southern drawl.

"Actually, it was completely unintentional," Nick breathed out. Clearing his voice a few times, and afraid he'd start squeaking under the scowling gaze of a very angry night shift supervisor, Nick squared his shoulders once more. "We were on our way to get a bite to eat, when we heard a robbery in progress at an antique store in an older part of Vegas," Nick explained.

"I wath thtupid," Greg quietly stated, and then rapidly blinked his eyes in an attempt to stay awake.

The chuckle escaped before Nick could help it. When Sara's glare reached out like a caress and slapped him, he fell silent. Finally, "It was a stupid accident," rushed out of Nick's mouth.

Looking at Brass, Nick clarified, "We heard the call, and the time and place of the hit seemed to fit. We didn't have a pattern established yet, but – it just _felt_ right." Before Grissom could say a word, he hurriedly added, "I know we shouldn't judge a situation based on our gut, but…" and trailed off.

"The fact is, we should have stayed in our vehicle until the patrol arrived," he finished.

Silence ensued for several minutes. While Sara began to drift from fatigue, her mind going blank, Grissom and Brass would have been surprised to know their thoughts floated to the same place: How many decomps the dynamic duo could handle in the next month, and whether or not Swing and Days would hold over any decomps just for Nick and Greg.

"Man, we thought it was a false alarm," Nick finally lamented. Having Grissom's attention, he explained, "We didn't see any kind of light at all. None. Not even flashlight glare. So, we thought we'd just go to the door and look inside."

Spying the chair, Nick sat heavily and stared up at the room's occupants, noting Greg's heavy eyes. Puffing out a breath, Nick described the scene, "The scene is an antique dealer, and the shop itself has been around since Las Vegas first became incorporated. The door has a glass inlay – clear glass. There are two huge windows, like you see in front of boutique shops." Looking around he mournfully finished, "We just thought we'd look in the door's window – stand back near the building and look."

"I need to know what_exactly_ happened, Nick," Brass resignedly stated.

Nodding, Nick stared at his hands, his Texas accent growing thicker, "We stood with our backs against the building, and peered in the front door. After about twenty or thirty seconds, we realized we couldn't see anything. There still wasn't any light, even though the street lamp out front seemed to be out, so we should have been able to make out any light coming from inside the shop. Greg stepped in front of the door to try to get a better view."

Looking up, he finished, "Greg had barely moved to look in the door window, when someone inside slammed it open, right into his face. He dropped almost instantly, and four people went flying out the door and down the street."

"Can you give me a description?" Brass asked.

"Not much of one," Nick glumly stated. "They wore all black, including ski masks. However, I can tell you they weren't young."

Surprised by the statement, Grissom asked, "How?"

"The way they moved," Nick replied, adding, "Their motor skills didn't seem to be as fast as someone under maybe sixty or seventy. If it had been just one of them, I'd say one might have physical injuries. However, they all moved a little more slowly. The way they ran seemed more like a really fast shuffle than anything."

Looking back to his partner in crime, Nick more strongly stated, "I would have chased them, but Greg wasn't moving. Instead, I called for a bus and felt for vitals. He was out cold for over a minute."

"Concuthion," Greg murmured, groggily.

The physician stepped back into the cubicle, approaching Greg, when Sara asked, "What kind of pain medication did you give him?"

"Mild," the doctor replied. "He was given a CT-Scan and found to have a slight concussion. He wasn't out long and what we saw didn't warrant too heavy a concern. However, he needs someone to watch him for the next day or so."

Sara immediately looked at Grissom, who sighed, "He can stay with us," and felt the safe little world they'd created snug in their home become a little smaller and less… private.

"Thankth," Greg muttered, and yawned.

The doctor pulled out a prescription and handed it to Sara. "It's one pill every six hours if needed for pain relief. I'm making it out for twelve pills. If he's still in severe pain after that, bring him back." While he spoke, he pulled out a sheet of paper, handing it to Sara, as well, "This is a list of things to watch out for over the next twenty four hours."

Putting Greg's chart on the tray, the doctor pulled out the pen light one last time, checked the dilation of Greg's eyes, and announced, "Bring him back in if any problems crop up. Other than that, you can take him home whenever you're ready. Just check out at the front desk." With that final note, the physician whisked from the cubicle, and onto another patient.

While Greg's belongings, including the clothes he'd worn coming into the ER, were wrapped up in a paper evidence bag for processing, Sara peered at Nick, and quietly asked, "Precisely why were you laughing when you called?"

For the first time since the group had arrived, Nick found his grin, and answered, "I was having flashbacks to your garage not that many hours ago. Greg's face is going to look a lot like Grissom's." The chuckle fell from his lips almost instantly, when he felt Grissom's glare.

"Hey Greg, do you want out of the hospital gown?" Nick quickly asked, only to hear the man in question grunt in response.

"I'll go grab your jumpsuit," Nick effered, and darted out of the cubicle. Returning with the item in question several minutes later, everyone excused themselves so Greg could dress in peace. When he finally emerged from behind the curtain and walked over to stand next to Grissom, Sara finally found her sense of humor.

Biting her cheek to retain the chuckle that threatened to escape, her husband looked in her eyes, and balefully stared, until she averted her gaze to the tile floor.

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After dropping Greg and Sara off at the house and slipping into a change of more 'professional' clothes, Grissom met Nick and Catherine at the antique store. Whether his guys had done something stupid or not, one of them had sustained injuries in the process. This particular case became Grissom's personal priority.

The darkened street gave way to oil glare from far off street lamps, but not enough to illuminate much. Parking his personal vehicle half a block from the scene, Grissom grabbed his case from the trunk and walked over to find the rest of his crew.

"Show me what you have," Grissom commanded, moving toward the door that had knocked his CSI for a loop.

Nick, not even remotely fazed by the slightly swollen nose and black eyes of his supervisor began to move to the door, while Catherine stared, her mouth agape. "What happened to _you_?" she asked.

"Accident," he replied, and felt lucky when she let it drop. He had no doubt the question would arise later, and Grissom made a mental note to devise a story slightly less upsetting for his wife, yet close enough to the truth to satisfy the general office populous.

"Greg hit his head on the wood frame here," Nick indicated, showing a mark on a door in desperate need of a paint job. "Catherine found the note, so I'd say we're looking at the same guys."

"What have you processed?" Grissom asked, moving to stand directly in front of the building. Wanting an overall impression of the night's events, he asked the patrolman to momentarily flip off the single spotlight shining into the shop. Standing in nearly pitch darkness, with only the Vegas haze of light penetrating the dark, Grissom moved forward to the windows, peering into the blackness within.

Without looking up, he waved Catherine over, "Go inside, and use your flashlight. Put it on low beam, and move around."

Flipping on the light, Catherine began at the front of the store, closest to the windows, and began moving the light back and forth as she paced the length of the shop, moving back as she went.

"What do you see?" Grissom asked Nick.

"Too much light," he instantly replied.

"CATHERINE!" Grissom shouted. "KEEP GOING."

For several minutes, Catherine paced back and forth, until she shouted, "I'M AT THE BACK WALL."

Walking into the antique store, Grissom flipped on his own flashlight, and tried to get an overall impression of the dark shop. Standing in the center, near a Tiffany lamp, Grissom said, "Everyone. Lights out and don't move."

For over a minute, Nick looked around the room. Eventually his eyes adjusted to the dark, and he could make out vague shapes and outlines.

Flipping his flashlight back on, Grissom looked around and found the light switch and flipped it, making everyone blink rapidly and adjust to the brightness.

"Nick, start at the back, with the door heading to the alley. Catherine, start at the front," Grissom ordered, while he made his way back to stand on the street in front of the windows.

Making a mental map of the layout, Grissom watched Brass approach in a sedate pace, an older couple following and talking in low tones.

"Grissom, I'd like you to meet the store's owners, Angus and Martha Mankin," Brass stated in way of introduction. "They just arrived."

"Detective Brass was explaining that nothing was stolen, and there didn't seem to be any forced entry," Angus Mankin stated. Regretfully, he looked at his wife and winced, when he added, "We've been meaning to get a security system, but…" and he trailed off in time for his wife to mutter, "Angus is too cheap."

"Mr. Mankin, do you move many objects around in the store?" Grissom asked.

It was Martha Mankin who answered, "My husband can't lift much anymore, due to arthritis. Why?"

"I'm wondering if someone could have memorized the layout of the store," Grissom answered absently, walking back to the entrance.

"You know, I've never really worried about security here," Mr. Mankin stated. "The fact is, I've only had one other robbery, and that was nearly forty years ago, shortly after we opened the shop."

"Really?" Brass asked. "You're luckier than most, then."

"Wait," Grissom called out, "Out of curiosity, how did someone break into your store all those years ago?"

"They picked the lock on the alley door."

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Catherine's promise of logging the evidence allowed Grissom to arrive home by end of shift to find Greg sleeping uncomfortably on the couch, April sitting in one of the recliners staring at him, and his wife nowhere in sight.

"Sara?" Grissom asked, feeling the ache of the last twenty four hours creep up on him.

"She's asleep," April murmured, her eyes never leaving Greg's face.

"He's fine," Grissom stated. "He was hit in the face with a door and received a concussion from the blow."

"You're sure he'll be fine?" April asked, with obvious concern stamped in her eyes.

Giving her shoulder a squeeze, Grissom reiterated, "He's fine." With a quick wave, he made his way through the house to find his wife asleep in nothing but the sweatshirt she'd thrown on to wear to the hospital.

Peeling off his clothes, Grissom lay in bed next to his wife, and slowly ran his hand through her mass of curls. Leaning down and running his lips over her cheek, he felt her smile, and couldn't help but smile in return, adding, "Hey, sleeping beauty."

"What do you know about beauty?" she murmured, slowly rolling, raising her arms above her head.

"I know you define beauty for me," he replied, slowly drawing her up and into a kiss. It wasn't until she realized she wore nothing but skin that she broke the kiss, wondering, _How did he get a sweatshirt off me without me even realizing it?_

The playful gleam in his eyes, and the quirk of his grin had her falling right into his gaze. When he whispered, "How do I love thee, Let me count the ways…" and trailed off with a patch of kisses across her forehead, Sara sighed, and drifted further into him, murmuring, "Elizabeth Barret Browning," on a grin.

When her response was followed by his soft voice, "I love you," her eyes filled.

"I love you too, Gil."

While he spent every ounce of remaining energy showing his wife how much he truly loved her, she moved in time with him, enthralled with those rarely spoken words. Later, feeling sated, he wondered how he could have ever thought his home would feel small, when _she_ was there with him.

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Unfortunately, Grissom's home shrunk several hours later, when he walked into the living room to find Greg asleep on the couch, April laying on top of him, and the young man's arm slung protectively over the back of the young blond. Walking up behind her husband, Sara gave him her _I suggest you stay silent or pay an unhappy consequence_ look.

"You really should get that look patented, Sara," Grissom softly muttered, making his way to the kitchen. Glancing at the clock, he realized it was still early enough in the day they should still be asleep, yet late enough it would be impossible to find more rest.

"Take me out to eat, and tell me about the case," Sara whispered in his ear.

On a nod, Grissom grabbed the car keys, and they headed to a little café they frequented as much for their vegetarian cuisine as their Chiles Rellenos. Sitting in a small booth toward the back, a common favorite in front of them, Grissom brought Sara up to date on the case.

Running through a detailed account of the shop itself, and pulling out the files from the previous cases, Grissom sat back and watched his wife's mind work. It always fascinated him when she would quirk her head a bit, start asking questions, and suddenly smile.

For nearly the entire meal, she reviewed the notes from the various case files, occasionally asking if Grissom could clarify some piece of information. At times, he could, at others she was referred to Nick or Greg, and made notes to ask. It was during the last bite, as she read through Grissom's own notes that her tell-tale smile spread.

"You already know, don't you?" she accusingly laughed, and watched the apples of his cheeks firm up and flush on a mischievous grin. Between the humor on his face and the light in his eyes, she shook her head as she watched the child in him come out to play.

"You already have an idea of where to look!" she reiterated, her own face contorting with good humor.

"Yes. I wanted to watch you pick up on it," Grissom replied, sipping his coffee.

Sara flipped the folders closed, handed them back to her husband, and asked, "So, just how pissed off do you think Mandy is going to be with you?"

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A/N – Well, Review got up the nerve, and she finally asked Login out to dinner. What did that idiot do? He turned her down. He wouldn't say why – just that he didn't know what to do about the feelings between them. Review is now not only sad, but convinced that Login is a jackass. He then hurt her feelings by asking Extras out for dinner! Review has been feeling a lonely and sad, because now Login is avoiding her – just staying up there at the top of the page. To think, they used to be friends…


	51. Chapter 51

A/N – Okay, I thought of writing longer chapters, and discovered I'd simply never get anything written if I did that… while I like the flow of the longer chapters… oh well. There's just not enough time in my day. Also, I'm sorry for the delay. I needed to take a break from the story, as it started to feel like an obligation, rather than fun. It's back to being fun. I hope you like.

Disclaimer – I'm not that creative. Make it up yourself.

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"I have no intention of speaking with Mandy. That's Nick's job," Grissom smirked, digging into his meal.

"I really want to see this happen," Sara murmured, popping a grape in her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. Furrowing her brow in concentration, she asked, "Don't you think you should have Nick wait until _after_ he's made the verification, though?"

"I agree," he replied. Pushing his plate away, Grissom leaned back and quirked a brow, "Are you about ready to leave, my dear?"

Leisurely, they made their way to the car, his hand on her lower back, rubbing circles to stroke away some of the fatigue still evident in her posture. Walking in the door several hours before shift, Sara's only desire was to get a couple hours of sleep, hopefully of the nightmare-less variety. Unfortunately, a houseful of people sat in the living room, talking intently and quietly.

"Crap," she muttered, making her way to the easily recognized voices. "Our house has gotten a little too small, all of a sudden."

"Your idea, honey," Grissom murmured in her ear.

"I'm getting rid of them," she muttered on a deep frown. "Just watch."

Smiling, Grissom walked sedately behind his wife. Standing directly behind her, he prepared for cranky side of Sara to emerge.

"Everyone. Out. I need sleep," she grunted, and then giving in to an involuntary yawn. When she began to step forward and ran into a side table, she yelped, "Son of a bitch. That's it." Turning back to the occupants, she bowed low on one leg and said, "Good night. Go away," and made her way unceremoniously to bed.

Smiling slightly, Grissom watched Laura, Dennis, April and Greg glance at each other in confusion. "I believe my wife would like her calm, uneventful home back," he softly stated. "To tell you the truth, the last few days have been rather difficult for _both_ of us. We tend to live quietly."

The pallid faces in front of him recognized the meaning behind the words.

"How about I take you to the best rib place in town," Greg offered lightly, standing and rapidly gaining the consent of the room's other occupants. Grimacing, he looked at his boss. "I'm fine on my own. Thanks for letting me crash here."

While everyone else made their way to the front door, April said, "I can stay at a hotel, Gil. I'll just grab my bags--"

Grissom rapidly held up a hand, and smiled, "No. You won't. Sara would kill both of us. She wants a chance to be a sister to you. She's happy to have the chance to do this."

Looking toward the front of the house, April squeezed Grissom's hand, smiled lightly, and made her way to the rest of the group.

Stepping into the bedroom, Grissom smiled at the sight in front of him. His wife lay in bed wearing one of her slinkier nightgowns. Twiddling her fingers impatiently, she scowled, "It's about time."

Smiling wider, he made short work of his own garments, dropping them in a pile next to the dresser, and joined her. When she moved up over him, he relished the feel of his hands running over the silky material. On a chuckle, he pulled her down further, letting himself savor the short time he knew they had together.

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The twenty minute catnap they'd caught before heading into the office refreshed them more than either could have anticipated. While Grissom grabbed slips, frowning at the caseload, he never noticed the gaping looks from everyone as he walked down the hall. Had anyone asked about the swollen nose and smudges of bruise under his eyes, he would have had to think about a response. He'd acclimated to the dull ache, and frankly had more important matters on his mind.

Once Grissom was seated and reviewing notes prior to assignments, Hodges carefully made his way across and tapped on the door with, "Hey boss. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Hodges. Did you need something?" Grissom abruptly asked.

"No. I just wanted to… to… to tell you that I have the Trace done for Catherine's case, so I'm going to just head down to her office," he said, quickly making his way down the hall.

"HODGES!" Grissom shouted, forcing the tech to do a stiff spin back. "Have you seen Nick?"

"He's in the break room with Greg. Shall I get him?" Hodges offered, a superior smile marring his face.

"Send them both to my office."

Slinking down the hall moments later, Greg felt like a kid being sent to the principal's office. It had only occurred once, but he never forgot the feeling deep in his stomach that told him it was bad bad bad.

Quietly taking the chairs across from Grissom, Nick and Greg waited. Sneaking occasional glances at each others' worried faces, they continued to wait silently.

_We're screwed,_ Nick repeated to himself. Glancing at Greg, he watched the younger CSI swallow deep in fear. Minutes ticked by, and for a time, both CSIs could imagine the tick-tick-tick-tick of a clock loudly tapping in their head.

Finally laying down a folder, Grissom looked over the rim of his glasses and quietly asked, "Give me one good reason I shouldn't fire you."

Gulping hard, Greg and Nick looked at each other. Neither knew Grissom had already decided their fate, and firing either would be a stupid act on his part. Gil Grissom could be many things, but stupid wasn't one of them.

"I'm one of the best CSIs you have, and I made a mistake. I owned up to it, and admit my actions were not thought through well," Nick stated.

Sitting back, Grissom thought through Nick's statement. _He's right. He is one of the best CSIs in Vegas. Every member of my team is the best._

"I'm not going to fire you, but you _will_ be writing a letter of apology to the sheriff," Grissom stated.

Switching his gaze to Greg, Grissom merely quirked a brow and waited.

The stern principal's look assisted in making Greg's fidgety and nervous, as Grissom peered over his glasses, never letting his eyes break the stare from Greg. Eventually dropping his gaze momentarily to his lap, Greg returned it to his boss. He shut his eyes, breathed deep, and finally spoke evenly, "Everyone screws up. I was lucky it was only a concussion. It _won't_ happen again."

"You're in the same boat as Nick," Grissom informed the young man. "You will not be fired, but you _will_ write a letter of apology to the sheriff. Furthermore, you are not going into the field for the next three days. You're on desk duty for the concussion."

When Greg looked like he was about to argue that the doctor was only concerned about one more day of light duty, Grissom waited patiently, feeling like a parent disciplining a child. If necessary, he was prepared to look at his CSI and quietly ask, "Would you like to make it four more days?" It was best for Greg when his mouth shut on a huffing breath.

Looking between the two, the plan that had shaped earlier came to the forefront of Grissom's mind.

Quietly, he informed them, "I am taking control of this case. Nick, you are going to hit the archives. Go back to the first time the antique shop was hit. Compare everything. Then go to the other two sites, and see if there are old cases there, as well."

Sharply nodding his head, Nick said, "Sure, boss. I'll see what I can find."

"Oh… I'm not done, Nick. Once you find the appropriate archive cases, I also want you to take the fingerprints we have from the recent cases, and ask Mandy to start comparing against archives," Grissom mildly stated.

As both CSIs paled, Grissom turned to Greg and added, "You're helping Nick find the case files, and then assisting Mandy for the next few days."

Walking away from Grissom's office, Nick looked at Greg and said, "Man, we screwed up."

"Could be worse," Greg responded. "_I_ could have to be the one to tell Mandy she's got to physically compare the existing prints to thousands of archive prints that are so old they haven't yet been transferred to AFIS."

Unfortunately for Nick, he knew payment would be due the sharp, witty brunette in the fingerprint lab – not just at work, but at home.

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A/N – Review is back to sighing over Login, trying to ignore him. She's decided to give him the space he apparently needs. Not that it matters. Apparently Login is trying to ignore the attraction. He feels that since he's been around since the start of this site, and is therefore older, it's up to him to back off. However, Register, Home, Communities, Forum, and Just In are rolling their eyes, because they see the longing look in Login's eyes.


	52. Chapter 52

A/N – I know I'm not posting as often, but I've got tons of projects going at once. I hope you like it!

Disclaimer – I look forward to a universe where I'm not going to get sued for writing a simple story.

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Over the course of several hours, Nick managed to dig through digital copies of case files. Grinning, he hit print, grabbed the information, and headed out to find Greg. Seeing him sitting in Archie's lab, assisting in any way could due to be lab-bound, Nick stuck his head in to let him know what had been found.

"I've got a case file number to go with the current antique store case," Nick stated, holding out a printout. I'm heading to LVPD to check out the actual case file. Be back in an hour."

Whistling, he made his way down the halls of the forensics lab, and sent up a quick prayer of, _Please, God, let there be __**identified**__ fingerprints in there._

Unfortunately, as he'd learned of late, prayers are not always answered.

Grimacing at the sight of the stormy look on Nick's face, Greg contemplated hiding for a moment, before stepping out of the break room to intercept his co-worker.

"No luck?" Greg casually asked.

"Oh, there's luck," Nick grumbled, "It's all bad luck."

"What's in the box?" Greg asked.

"Oh, it's not just one box, Greg," Nick said, a little too quietly. "There's another box in the back of my Denali."

Grabbing the keys as Nick tossed them, Greg retrieved the box, and met Nick in the layout room.

"Let's lay it out," Nick sighed.

Two hours later, making his way down the hall, Grissom ran across Nick and Greg staring at case files laid out.

"What have you found?" he asked, looking at the obviously old folder styles, and the aged papers set out on the light table.

"I managed to find the case file from the antique store robbery the owners said happened forty years ago. It actually occurred forty three years ago," Nick stated, spreading out some papers. "Four sets of unidentified fingerprints were found at the scene."

"And?" Grissom prompted. "What did you find?"

"They're a match," Nick glumly stated. "The unidentified prints from the old case match ours."

"Did you find old cases matching the other two robberies you have?" Grissom asked.

"Yeah," Nick stated. "Same fingerprints, too. The antique store was forty three years ago. I found matching old cases for our other two current open robberies from forty four and forty five years ago, respectively."

"What's your next step?" Grissom asked.

"I'm heading over to talk to Mandy in a few minutes," Nick murmured, staring at the prints he'd lifted.

"Let her know that you and Greg are at her beck and call on this," Grissom stated, staring straight at Nick.

"Yeah. I will, Gris," Nick stated, and watched his boss nod and exit the room.

"Want some company?" Greg asked.

The smile on his face looking pained, Nick replied, "Naw. I got it."

Grabbing the print cards, Nick left Greg to store everything in an evidence locker, and made his way to the fingerprint lab. With her back turned, Mandy didn't hear him enter, and he quietly close the doors. Glancing around, Nick was relieved to see the blinds turned down. Whenever Mandy needed to concentrate, she flipped the shades, preferring the dim room with lights spotted directly on the evidence to the lights of the hall invading her space.

"Hey," he said, standing in front of the closed door.

Her head popping up from her current analysis, Mandy blinked a few times, and smiled slowly.

"Got something good for me, Tex?" she asked.

Blowing out a breath, Nick replied, "Yeah." Looking at the door, listening for anyone roaming the hall, and knowing no one could see into her domain, he moved forward and murmured, "Just remember I love you," before kissing her.

When he backed away, it was to see a glare on her face and a gritted, "What did you do, Stokes?" and he thought, _Well crap. Now I'm really in trouble._

"I have some fingerprints that need to be manually compared against archived prints," Nick muttered, trying not to look her in the eyes. He could already see the expression on her face in his head, and grimaced.

"All right," she too calmly replied. When she reached over, grabbed his shirt collar and dragged him into a long, sultry kiss, he couldn't help the overwhelming pulsing that ran through him. Letting himself sink into it, getting stoked-up by it, he moaned when she purposely shoved him back and seethed, "Don't ever bring our personal life into the lab. That's at home. It has nothing to do with your screw ups at work."

"Yes'm," popped out of his mouth before he could stop it.

"Nick, regardless of the fact that you messed up the other night, it has no affect at home, okay?" Mandy asked, surprised how tentative he still felt with her at times.

"You're right," he murmured. "It won't happen again."

Right before opening the door, Mandy surprised him with, "By the way, Grissom stopped by earlier to give me a warning that you might be coming in to make my life miserable. He also wanted to make sure that I knew you and Greg would be doing the bulk of the work."

Standing part way in the hall, Nick nodded, and acquiesced, "Yes, we'll be working with you on the comparisons."

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DNA was dead. For that matter, Sara didn't even have a backlog to process. Making her way down to the break room, she plopped down in a chair, and contemplated her dilemma. Back and forth, she debated her problem, knowing she would feel guilty regardless of what choice she made. If she asked him, she'd feel guilty for forcing him to do something that made him horribly uncomfortable – and she _knew_ regardless of what Grissom said that he'd be uncomfortable. If she didn't ask him, she'd feel guilty for not following through with the request made of her.

Impatiently, on a huff, she pulled out a journal, dropped it on the table, and started writing, hoping to put the dilemma out of her mind.

_The weirder my life, the less sleep I get. I'd write something down about the last few nights, but I don't have anything to write. The other day, I came home so damn tired, I slept too hard and felt tired when I woke up. This is stupid. Plain stupid. The only thing I can think that helps with the nightmares is getting so tired that a train running through the bedroom wouldn't wake me up._

_I'm tired. I'm tired of the nightmares. I'm tired of the drama. I'm just plain tired._

_The worst part is I've been putting this off. It's overwhelming trying to ask him for more – to give more. He's given so much already. He's been so supportive all the time. He's even been putting my needs first. It's not like it's a new concept, but he so often gets distracted by a case or some article or book. Lately, he's focused on me, and it's been great. I've felt guilty, though, because I know he is putting aside his own needs and desires to meet my needs and desires. I need to ask him, though. I just don't know how. He hates sharing his life, and I've forced so much on him already._

Feeling a tear begin to slide down her cheek, she slammed the journal closed, roughly rubbed away the wet trail, and huffed out of the break room. Making her way to her own research, she immersed herself, until her eyes burned.

Stopping to rub away the blurring vision, she glanced at the clock, and realized shift would be over shortly. Her gaze moved to her journal, and she felt the draw of the words. With resolve in every step, she made her way to her husband's office.

Tentatively sitting, nervous at the request she was about to make, she contemplated how to ask in her mind in a dozen different ways. _So, Gris, any chance you'd… no, that won't work. Hey, honey? I need to see my shrink. Do you think you could… no, that won't work either._

It wasn't until he'd called her name a third time that Sara's head snapped up.

"Is there something wrong, Sara?" Grissom asked.

"Yeah. I need help," she blurted out, shaking her head at the completely inadequate words that came out of her mouth. "Of course I need help. I'm here, aren't I? I mean, I might come sit in your office anyway, but I need to ask you something, and I can't even seem to get it out of my mouth. Instead I'm just babbling. Again."

Rounding his desk, Grissom moved to stand in front of her, and asked, "What is it you need to ask me?"

Taking a calming breath, she finally said, "Will you go with me for my next appointment with Dr. Granger? She'd like to talk with both of us. She'd like to talk to _you_ as well as me."

Then she winced, because yet again she was asking for him to open up his life to someone else.

"Of course," he replied, and she hissed out a pent up breath, until he asked, "What day is your appointment?"

"In an hour."

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A/N – He's staring at her again. Review can feel his gaze on her, but he averts his 'o' every time she looks up. Part of her feels giddy, while another part of her wants to smack him straight. She called up 'Add Story to Favorites', who she ran across the other day. He seemed like a nice enough guy. They're going on a date tomorrow...


	53. Chapter 53

A/N – Okay, another day, another chapter. I hope you enjoy the continuation of the story. It's fun weaving the characters into each others lives. I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer – My disclaimers are seeking psychiatric care. I believe they're in the same institution as Britney Spears.

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"I just have one question," Grissom casually asked. "Just how long have you been trying to ask me to go with you?"

Sitting in the psychologist's waiting room, Sara suddenly stopped tapping the journal against her knee. "Since my last appointment," she replied, staring at the fake palm in the rust colored bucket in the opposite corner of the tan room.

"You didn't ask last week because…?" he left off, waiting patiently for an answer.

"Have you noticed my life lately," she muttered.

Having known her for all these years, Grissom could simply _hear_ the excuse in her statement. Frowning, he picked up a magazine, realized it was of the garden variety – literally – and dropped it onto the coffee table in front of him.

He hated fidgeting, but found himself doing just that. Absently, he picked up another magazine, flipped some pages, and it too was added to the stack. Sighing, he leaned back on the sofa and watched his wife nervously flip through her journal again. She'd let him read it a couple of times, and he'd been surprised at the flow of phrase that had him wishing she could pour the ache into him.

"Sara?" a middle-age woman asked, standing in the doorway to an office. Smiling, she beckoned Sara to join her, and smiled, "is this your husband?"

"Yes," Sara replied. "This is Gil."

"Please, take a seat," she said, indicating a soft green micro-fiber couch across from the armchair.

Once seated, Dr. Granger said, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Gil. Sara's talked a great deal about you."

He wasn't precisely sure why, but the level of discomfort he'd felt upon walking into the waiting room seemed to double. "It's a pleasure to meet you, too," he replied.

Unfortunately, his level of disquiet only increased when she asked for Sara's journal and said, "Give me a moment to read this." Sitting back, she opened the journal, flipped through to the most recent pages, and began to read, leaving the room taut in the silence that followed.

When Sara laid her hand over his, he felt her insecurity in the touch, and clasped her hand tight. He was surprised how much calmer the touch made him feel. Sensing her gaze on his face, he turned his head, looked into her brown eyes, and smiled softly. Again, he squeezed her hand. It surprised him when the psychologist managed to read through Sara's scrawl so quickly and shut the journal.

"You've had an eventful week," the psychologist remarked. Turning to Grissom, she said, "I want to thank you for accompanying Sara today. Has she told you why I requested you attend?"

Furrowing his brow thoughtfully, Grissom replied, "No, she hasn't."

"I suggested last week that perhaps some couples therapy would be beneficial. It seems that some communication problems exist between you," Dr. Granger replied.

"I, ummm…" Sara started to say, then stopped. Clearing her throat, she took a slow breath, and clearly stated, "I asked him to come with me an hour ago."

When the doctor's eyebrows shot up, she finally asked, "May I ask why you waited so long to ask?"

It seemed that many seconds ticked by before Sara finally replied, "I ask too much. Frequently. I didn't want to drag him into this. I was trying to figure out a way to make this part unnecessary."

The calm demeanor and voice belied his feelings when he quietly asked, "Am I not already involved, Sara?"

When Sara opened her mouth to retort, she closed it on a huffing breath, and said, "Yeah. You are."

"This is one of the reasons I wanted you here, Gil," Dr. Granger stated. Looking over to Sara, she murmured, "Could I speak to your husband for a moment before the three of us talk?"

Sara's nod of acquiescence surprised Grissom as she quietly made her way back out the door to the waiting room. Left alone, he focused on the psychologist.

"I don't know anything about you, but I've known Sara for awhile. I've learned about her life, and the pain she's endured," she stated. "I also know that while she will put herself out to face life's difficulties head on, she sometimes doesn't understand the difference between dependency and giving herself a break."

At the word 'dependency' Grissom frowned. He remembered the drunk driving incident, but never considered her to be one that would allow herself to depend on alcohol or any substance. His forehead scrunching in thought he wondered, _I can't see her becoming an alcoholic or drug abuser. She's seen too much of the pain they can cause. Hell, we've __**talked**__ about it. What is it she's afraid of becoming dependent on?_

Then it clicked.

"She thinks she's becoming dependent on me, doesn't she?" Grissom asked.

Thinking through the proper response, Dr. Granger finally responded, "She's _afraid_ of being dependent on anyone. Sara was raised in a household where her parents had formed an extremely unhealthy dependency on drugs, alcohol, and each other."

"Dependent means _not self-sufficient_," Grissom stated. "If anything, I'd say Sara is the most anti-dependent person I've ever met."

"Except when it comes to you," Dr. Granger interjected. "At this point, I think I should bring Sara in."

Once seated, Dr. Granger stated, "I've been speaking with your husband about dependency," and watched Sara not quite withhold the wince.

"Okay," Sara replied.

Grissom watched his wife's reaction, and sighed. It was obvious the two women in the room had more than once discussed the topic at hand, and his wife felt uncomfortable with it.

"I've been reading through Sara's journal entries," Dr. Granger stated. "While they were not precisely what I expected when I asked her to journal her day, they've given me great insight into her thought processes. The manner in which she writes, along with the topics discussed, can be at times erratic and other smooth and flowing. The one common element I have found through them all is the feeling of being alone."

Surprised by this statement, Grissom quickly glanced over at his wife in time to see her face turn ghost white, and was struck that he hadn't seen this in her before.

"Sara, how many times in your life have you had someone you could turn to when you needed help?" Dr. Granger asked.

"I don't know," was her quiet reply, as Sara avoided everyone else by looking at the blank wall on the opposite side of the room.

"Do you remember anyone really being there for you during rough times?" the psychologist asked.

Sara's lack of response bit into him like nothing ever had before, and he felt every muscle in his stomach clench when she replied, "Gil. He's been around when I ask him."

"I always will be here for you," he murmured, taking her hand in his once again, leaning forward with his other hand on his knee. He was surprised when she slid her hand away from his.

Picking up the journal, Dr. Granger handed it back to Sara, and said, "If I were to make a guess, Sara, I'd say that you don't outright share everything you're feeling even with Gil, unless it gets to be too much." Sitting back in the arm chair, the psychologist asked, "Do you ever ask him for help before your back gets pushed to the wall?"

Sara's lack of response spoke the answer clearly.

"Why would you think you're dependent on me?" Grissom asked.

When she sought those startling blue eyes, she drew in a breath and said, "I take up so much of your time anymore."

Grissom replied, "I'm choosing to put you first. Anyone who knows anything about our history knows you've put me first for most of it. You're going through a hard time right now. It's my turn."

When he saw the surprised look on her face, he smiled, "You are perhaps the strongest, most compassionate woman I've ever met, Sara. The self-doubt I've seen flare in you lately takes me by surprise, because you are so amazingly competent and thoughtful. Has it ever occurred to you that you're entitled to a little down time to recuperate from everything you've been through this past year?"

"When do _you_ get to recuperate, Gil? When was the last time you worked on writing an article, or worked with your bees? Hell, when was the last time everything in your life not revolve around my problems?" she retorted. "I feel like I'm becoming a burden."

"So you withhold what you're feeling? You put yourself on the sidelines alone?" he asked.

"I believe you both have just pinpointed the majority of the problem," Dr. Granger said to the couple. "Sara, you seem to associate feeling like a burden with what you saw throughout most of your life – an unhealthy dependency saddled on someone else's back."

"What we have is nowhere near unhealthy, sweetheart," Grissom murmured. "It's a bit tangled right now, and I'll admit that I've been worried about you. However, it'll change in time."

"Sara, you just spent a great deal of time going back through an unhappy life. You've revisited memories that have haunted you from childhood. I believe you called them your ghosts," Dr. Granger stated. "What you need to consider is that emotionally and psychologically, you're more wounded than the broken bones and scrapes you received in the desert. The fact is that it is going to be harder to heal what is on the inside than what is on the outside."

"I've been keeping the damn journal, and coming here to talk," Sara muttered. "The nightmares don't go away, they just morph into something less identifiable."

"You'll probably have them for quite some time," Dr. Granger interjected. "Your subconscious needs to learn to deal with what happened on a level you can't force. Also, by having your family here, you've added another stressor."

"What would you suggest?" Grissom asked.

"I would ask that on top of Sara's regular session, we have a couple's session immediately afterward," Dr. Granger stated.

Grissom was surprised when he didn't internally recoil or grow tense at the recommendation. Rather, he felt maybe they could move forward. He hated the fatigue he'd seen in her eyes the past weeks, and more than once wished he could wipe away every memory that had placed the shadows there.

"I'd like that," he responded, and watched surprise and something close to guilt flare in her eyes.

The next evening, Grissom pulled out his own notebook, and began the exercise Dr. Granger had given him. It was time to write something in his _own_ journal.

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It was the end of the third extraordinarily boring shift, with Nick and Greg surrounded by archaic fingerprint cards, and both sets of eyes burning from hours upon hours of manual comparison. Stepping into her lab, Mandy smirked at the boys sitting at her counter space.

"Having fun, boys?" she quietly asked, and watched Greg's shoulders droop.

_I'm being cruel,_ she thought, smiling to herself. _I'm definitely being cruel._

"Any closer?" she casually asked.

It was her tone of voice that had Nick's head snapping up. Creasing his eyes, he slowly turned and stared at her. "You have something," he accused.

Smiling widely, "Oh yeah."

"Well?" he asked, moving closer. "What did you find?"

"Oh, just _all_ of your fingerprints," she stated, not making any move to provide the information.

"Are you going to give us the names?" Nick asked, frustrated.

"You know what I want," she laughed, and waited. Nick did not disappoint her.

"For cryin' out loud," he muttered in response.

Greg quietly leaned back against the counter he'd been working at, and discovered he'd been forgotten. Enjoying the show, he simply watched as Nick opened his mouth and quietly began to sing, "Oh Mandy," only to be stopped.

When Mandy used her fingers to indicate he needed to be louder, Greg had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.

The Texan gave a grudging grin before opening his mouth and more loudly singing Barry Manilow's _Mandy_.

Greg's attention turned from Nick to the slight smile that seemed to soften the fingerprint analyst's face, and he felt the sudden need to sit. He wondered if either of his co-workers had a clue of the expressions on their faces in that moment.

Feeling like he was invading their space, Greg lightly turned back around. A grin suddenly split his face when he wondered just how long the two of them had been seeing each other – and just how much mileage he could get out of this newfound knowledge. He suddenly frowned, though, because Nick hadn't said anything to him about any kind of relationship.

However, the light bulb went on in Greg's head quickly enough, when he thought, _lab policies_.

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A/N – Well, halfway through her date, Review gets a darn page to return because of an emergency 'all hands on deck' call. So what happens? She shows up, wondering why Login won't give her a break. After all, she's finally decided to get a life. Who does he think he is! She'd be HAPPY to get a life if he would LET her!

What do you think Review should do about it? Let me know your opinion.


	54. Chapter 54

A/N – Okay, this is one of those chapters that was difficult to write. I was having a hard time making up my mind precisely what he was supposed to be writing. I hope you like it. Please leave me a review and let me know.

Disclaimer – The writers are going back to work on CSI. Hey, they actually earn money by making up stories for the show. I don't. So, I think that if they don't get sued, I shouldn't get sued. Does that make sense?

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Gil Grissom, master of quotes, couldn't think of a single thing to write. He'd tried several times, unsuccessful at finding the right words. Again, he opened his journal. For half an hour, he stared at the striped pages crossing the blank sheet of the spiral notebook, and wondered if he should just start doing homework. He felt like he was back in school, so he sat back in his office chair and sighed.

Leaning forward again, he decided to start from the beginning. After all, he had an assignment. Dr. Granger had made it sound so easy. He was to write down how Sara had impacted his life – good and bad.

_Well, this sure as hell isn't as easy as it should be,_ he thought.

Frustrated, Grissom laid down his pen, closed the journal, and quietly slid it into the steel drawer. Making his way to the layout room, he found Catherine examining the clothes from a assault case in process. A tourist had been beaten pretty bad on the strip, then dragged and left for dead in the unlit trash-filled alley.

"How is it going?" he asked, stepping in.

"Sara processed the DNA under his fingernails, and got a hit in CODIS," she stated, bagging the victim's clothes, and sealing the evidence. Pulling off the latex gloves, she tossed them into the bio-hazard trash can, and leaned against the counter. "Vartann is picking up Zach Martin for questioning, and we've got enough evidence to nail him. Besides the DNA under the victim's nails, the same blood was found on the victim's shirt."

"Drop the case off on my desk and take off," Grissom told her. When her eyebrows rose in surprise of being given a chance to leave early for a change, he added, "And Catherine? Good job on the case."

Making his way further down the hall, he saw Nick and Greg looking through files, as Mandy leaned against a counter in her lab and grinned. Curious, he made his way to the door and stepped into the fingerprint lab.

"Hey, Grissom," Nick greeted. "Mandy identified our perps, and you're not going to believe this."

"The youngest is in his seventies," Greg stated.

"On top of that, there's a fourth burglary that the dynamic foursome perpetrated back in the sixties," Nick interjected. "We've got the address, and Brass already has some black and whites keeping an eye on the place."

"From what we've been able to find, these guys are from Chicago," Nick stated, thoughtfully. "We can't find any trace of them having lived in Las Vegas at any point."

"We also can't find any mob affiliation," Greg stated. "I've already talked to a few people at LVPD and the Chicago PD. Near as we can tell, they've been clean, except for here in Vegas."

Glancing through the paperwork Mandy handed over, Grissom read through it and asked, "Have you been able to locate them?"

"No," Greg huffed, obviously frustrated. "We sent out faxes to all the casinos on the strip to be alert for these guys, and haven't heard from anyone."

"Chicago PD is going to be sending over a couple of drivers license pictures. Apparently, only two of them have licenses, so we'll only have two that can visually identified," Nick stated.

Stepping back, Grissom stated, "Let me know if anything breaks open on this," and headed toward the DNA lab. Quietly, he watched his wife, headphones on and blaring _Rolling Stones_ music at a deafening level, as she stood in one spot, wriggling in a pseudo-dance. Smiling, with his back to the hall, he didn't hear Warrick approach until the younger man stood right next to him.

"Good, I was looking for you," Grissom stated, turning to his CSI. "Update me on the case."

Holding up a case file, the young man stated, "Domestic violence gone bad. The kid decided to jump into the middle of it, and ended up getting the crap beat out of her. The mother used a baseball bat on her, while the father tried to lay over top of the kid in order to protect her." Flipping the case file open again, he pulled up several sets of x-rays, indicating, "This one on top is from today. The others are from previous beatings."

"How old?" Grissom asked, and Warrick quietly replied, "Nine. The girl's nine, with the eyes of a ninety year old."

Closing the file, he handed it to his boss, and said, "Everything's in there. I imagine the mother will plead out. If the father is smart, he'll take that kid and get as far away from that woman as possible."

"Thanks, Warrick. Shift is almost over, so why don't you head home," Grissom stated, and watched Warrick head down to the locker room.

Shifting his attention back to the brunette, he watched as she executed a tight pirouette move, and stopped to smile at him.

"Hey," he said. "I'm heading home in an hour. We're meeting April, Dennis, and Laura for lunch, but I'm in desire of a little time on the couch under a blanket. Care to join me?"

Looking at the backlog needing to be processed, she turned to him and said, "Oh yeah. I'm leaving this for Days. They often leave enough for me."

His stance lazy as he contemplated her, a grin spread across his features before he said, "I'll meet you at the car, then."

The grin he wore spread to a smile when she copied his lazy stance, rolled her head a bit to the side, making her head spread across her cheek, and she replied, "I'll see ya when I see ya."

Making his way down to his office, Grissom sorted the reports he needed to file later, dropped the case files in his desk cabinet, and pulled out the journal. It was the smile that had given him the words.

Putting pen to paper, he wrote.

_The first time I saw Sara, I was a forty-something scientist who had never had any real kind of relationship. She sat in the middle of the room, and peppered me with questions in the end. We talked for nearly an hour after class, and I couldn't help but be attracted to her. It was flattering to have this young woman give me so much attention. She stroked my ego, and I found I genuinely liked her company. No topic seemed to be off-limits from philosophy to ballistics, and when I looked in her eyes, there was an intelligence and genuine interest there._

_When I brought her here, it was because of the intelligence I saw in her from the start. Make no doubt about that. Was I attracted to her? Look at her and talk to her. I would be stupid to deny it. When I asked her to stay, I had no idea the impact she would have on my life._

_The first couple of years here in Las Vegas, I would describe her as my student – eager to learn and soaking up any useful piece of information she could. At the same time, she tried so hard to get my attention. I've always been one to get wrapped up in the science in front of me, and miss the subtlety around me. _

_It wasn't until she'd been here for awhile that I realized the attraction __**I**__ still felt for __**her**__ wasn't going away. I could feel vibrations of pain flow in waves when she let herself attach to a victim, and I wanted so much to hold onto her. So I backed away, because while it still stroked my ego to have such an amazing young woman want to be with me, I was terrified that when she realized it was nothing more than a crush, it would hurt too much. _

_I was an idiot. I pushed at her, telling her to get a life, then pulled her back when I needed her. I made excuse after excuse, and she just took it. There are still times when I watch her sleep that I wonder why she didn't haul off and deck me, or at least find someone to make her happy. Then there are other times, when she's wrapped around me in bed that I thank God she waited._

Staring at the page in front of him, feeling slightly dazed that he'd been able to find the words, he absently opened the desk drawer. Closing the journal, he dropped it in, and made his way to the car.

She leaned against the driver's side door, her elbows hooked on the top, hands dangling, and her head tilted up toward the sky. To say she was shocked when he walked to her, wrapped a hand in her hair, and dragged her into a kiss in the middle of the parking lot would be an understatement.

When he released her lips to kiss her forehead, Sara breathlessly asked, "What brought that on?" and laughed when he grinned, "homework."

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A/N – Review has been muttering 'Bastard' for the last couple of hours. Apparently, 'Add Story to Favorites' is already engaged to 'Add Author to Favorites'. So she's been muttering 'Bastard.' Communities noticed something was wrong, and figured out what happened. Perhaps Login should hold his distance right now, because Review really doesn't want to be around emotionally vacant men right now.


	55. Chapter 55

A/N – I know it's been awhile. Every now and again other things rattle around in my brain until I release them into the vapor (otherwise known as fanfiction). Here you go, I hope you like it.

Disclaimer – CBS/Paramount own the characters of CSI. Think there's a chance they can be rented? I'll hire 'em.

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"So tell me again. Why are we watching a crime drama?" Sara asked, snuggling lower under the sheets, laying her head on his chest. Smiling at the feel of his chuckle rumbling through him, she glanced up.

"It's the _Maltese Falcon_, dear," he said, the grin spreading. "It's a classic."

"It's murder and mayhem," she countered, the ponderingly added, "Of course, Bogie _is_ cute." Frowning lightly, she wondered aloud, "I have to wonder how they ever prosecuted without ALS or DNA analysis."

Outright laughing, Grissom grabbed the remote, flipped off the television, and settled down next to his wife. Rolling her over, he hoisted himself above her with a mischievous grin, settling his weight on his elbows. "_Bogie_ is cute?"

Awhile later, Sara couldn't help but smirk at the thought of what someone would ever find if they took an ALS to _their_ room.

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"Are you okay?" Grissom asked, wending his way through the parking lot of the Bellagio.

"Just thinking," Sara replied, and then suddenly straightened and declared, "I'm not nervous."

A grin of curiosity crossing his face, he raised an eyebrow, sneaking a glance.

Once parked among the multitude of out-of-state vehicles and rental cars, they wound their way in and around until they reached the front door. Walking through the 'ding ding ding' and cacophony of voices, tempered only by the constant air conditioning, Grissom and Sara found the restaurant, and their guests, waiting.

"Sorry for being late," Sara said, leading them to the podium and securing a table.

Once seated, menus in hand, Laura looked to her husband, and finally said, "We're going to be leaving tomorrow morning."

Sara, who had been feigning an interest in the large menu dropped it. "Oh."

"We should be getting home," Laura stated. "To be honest, I don't think you are all that comfortable with me here."

His eyes bouncing from his wife to his step-daughter, and back, Dennis asked, "Gil? Why don't you… show me around. Or something." Taking the prompt with a raised brow, Grissom stood, and the two men ambled off.

"I'm not uncomfortable," Sara muttered into her coffee cup. Sighing, she looked at Laura and said, "Look, it's been weird for me. Really weird. I don't know how to take all of this. You're not like I remember you, and it's hard to adjust."

"I can understand," Laura said, frowning. "I don't know what I expected. For so long, I've thought about what I would say or do if you ever sought me out. Then you showed up on my doorstep, but you weren't what I expected."

Curious, Sara leaned forward in absolute concentration and asked, "What were you expecting?"

Chuckling at the concentration in her daughter's eyes, Laura replied, "Someone a little less intense, maybe. Although, why I would think that, I don't know. You were very intense as a child." Reaching out a hand, Laura waited – hoped – that Sara would give hers. When her daughter's tentative hand finally slipped into hers, she said, "There are so many things I could wish for, and all of them have to do with regrets. I wish I could take back my inaction and my abuses. The thing I wish I could take back most is taking your father from you."

Watching the wince cross Sara's features, followed by her, "Laura, please don't. I'd just as soon not get into it," Laura knew she needed to add that one constantly present, yet unplaced piece in the puzzle. "He loved you, Sara."

Removing her hand from her mother's and falling back against the rails of the chair, Sara huffed, "Well, damn."

"Things fell apart long before you probably remember. Truth be told, I'm not sure anything was ever right between us, except you," Laura said, a sad smile playing across her lips. "You were the only right thing to come from us, as neither your father nor I were capable of much else."

Looking around the restaurant, as families ebbed and flowed through the room, Sara felt a bit out of place, as if in a surreal painting. Watching her mother, something coursed through, making her chilled. Opening her mouth, she closed it and frowned with another sip of coffee. "My life has never been simple or easy," Sara finally said. "I can live with complicated. I'm just really not sure what to do with you. It's not even that I feel uncomfortable so much, it's that I don't know where to fit you into all the equations that define my life."

"I understand," Laura said. "I'm all right with that. I want you to know that I'll accept whatever you are willing to share with me. To tell you the truth, I'll dance on a rooftop for whatever piece of your life you'll let me participate in, because I'll get to see my child."

Seeing the skeptical look on her daughter's face, Laura continued, "I may have failed as a parent, but that doesn't disconnect you from me. I'll always worry and wonder about you. You'll always be my child," Laura said.

Staring up at the ceiling, counting the tiles, before finally returning her gaze to her mother, Sara finally said, "Well, I guess you've always been on the edge of my brain, too."

A thoughtful quiet settled over the table for a moment, as the two women studied not only each other, but themselves. When Sara finally broke the silence, it was with a grudging, "I suppose I wouldn't mind you visiting again," that had a smile spreading across Laura's face.

"I would really like that."

"Don't count on our relationship being much more than it is, Laura," Sara warned. "I'm not sure what I'm capable of giving or accepting on that end."

Picking up the menu, Laura nodded to her daughter, and Sara turned her head in time to see Gil and Dennis reach the table.

"I never knew you could lose ten bucks that fast," Dennis stated to the table at large.

The pained expression on Grissom's face as he replied, "It's people like you that feed the coffers of the city," had Dennis laughing.

Clapping his son-in-law on the back, he retorted, "But it pays your wages, son."

Noticing the waitresses' approach, they each picked up their menu for a quick perusal. No sooner had Sara said, "Fruit bowl," did Grissom's cell phone pager go off. Only a second later, so did Sara's.

Glancing at each other, they flipped open their respective phones and stood. With a natural ease of years of working together, Grissom covered the mouthpiece and asked, "All hands?"

"Yes," Sara replied, reading the text message. Grabbing her coat, Grissom held it up, his cell phone crooked between his head and his shoulder, while she slipped into it. Picking up his own jacket, he slung it over an arm.

Her face set, all business, Sara said, "I'm sorry, but we need to leave." Looking from Dennis to Laura, she added, "I wish we could stay but…"

Seeing him flip his cell phone closed, she rapidly turned and asked, "How many?" He knew she what she was asking and grimaced.

"Four dead on scene, ambulances coming in from all directions, and over a dozen casualties and rising," he replied. The grim look on his face had Sara praying the dead count wouldn't rise much more, but knowing in her gut an announced increase would be imminent.

At Dennis's curious look, Grissom said, "Pile-up on the two-fifteen, just east of the I-fifteen interchange. Twenty seven cars, a tourist bus, and four semis."

"I'm sorry for missing lunch," Sara said, before walking from the table out into the warm Las Vegas sun, her husband resting gently on her back. Making their way in a fast clip toward their vehicle, Sara glanced over and asked, "You let him lose ten bucks?"

The uncharacteristic snort had her head whipping around as he unlocked the car and they got in. Pulling out of the parking lot, she asked, "How much did _you_ lose?"

Driving toward the lab, Sara couldn't contain the laugh at his grumbled, "Twenty bucks. He kept distracting me."

The laughter on her face died off, the closer they got to the lab. With kits in hand, they swapped to Grissom's Denali, and headed south, arriving rapidly, with police escort, on the edge of the carnage.

Nick spotted them first, making his way over. The freeway looked post-war. Smoke plumed high into the air from a flaming semi cab. Mangled wreckage twisted and warped out under the sun, and everywhere the sound of groaning victims broke through. As far as the eye can span, even across the desert sand, it looked like bombs and land mines had found and destroyed with precise execution.

"My God," Grissom muttered, staring out onto the scene. As Catherine, as well as half the day shift CSIs approached, and made it evident everyone had been waiting on the entomologist, Grissom got to work handing out assignments. Over the next ten minutes, more CSIs, including Warrick, Greg, and Wendy rolled in, staring in a daze at the destruction.

Eventually pulling Grissom aside, Catherine asked, "Why the hell is graveyard being handed this?" He knew Catherine had been working the murder at the Sands the last few days, and was short on sleep.

"I don't presume to speak for the sheriff or anyone else as to why we're here," he responded.

"Then guess," she said in a low, tired tone.

"We have more experience." No one could doubt that statement. Having handled multiple mass-traffic situations before, the graveyard team had been remarked upon more than once for their fast, efficient, and _accurate_ crime scene analysis.

"Damn, it's going to be a long day," she sighed in response.

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A/N – Okay, now Review is _really_ confused. All of a sudden Login is wanting to spend more time with her. Review and the other guys she hangs out with went out for a drink, things get out of hand, and next thing she knows Login is giving her a ride home. It doesn't end there, either. He actually asked her how she was doing. It took her a moment to realize he was only asking out of obligation, so she blew him off. Meanwhile, Login got home and felt kind of sad. He'd really screwed up with Review.


	56. Chapter 56

A/N – I apologize for those who did not receive a reply to their reviews. I really did enjoy hearing your comments. Unfortunately, a slight case of work-induced 700 page report insanity took over my life for awhile. While this chapter is short, I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer – If a tree falls in the forest and nobody is there to hear it, what is the potential that particular tree will be milled as paper, and used to print a CSI script?

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For two weeks, Sara and April worked side-by-side, with Sara stepping out every now and again for DNA processing. For April, it felt strange to finish her day walking out into the bright glare of the sun. Stranger yet, the heat from Las Vegas burned against her in a different way than in San Francisco, and some days she felt like a piece of fried chicken crisping up.

Making her way to her car after having put in a twelve hour day, thanks to zoning out on code, her eyes blurred a little in the stark heat. Leaning her hands against the old VW bug, spray painted a dozen different neon colors on a lark with some college buddies, she wanted nothing more than home and bed.

The arms that wrapped around her had her straightening, then leaning back against the soft, "Hey there," and the familiar zing of energy flowed through her. Turning in his arms, knowing he would've checked for any potential audience before ever approaching her, she turned, stood on her toes, and kissed him.

"I didn't see you all shift," he softly accused, a grin on his lips. "When did you get in?"

"A few hours before you," she replied, and leaned into him, wishing she had enough energy to pull away from him because he was too damn hot in the scorching day. "I need air conditioning."

Snagging the keys she produced from her hand, Greg said, "I'll take you home. You look like you're about to drop."

Pulling into her parking place, Greg parked his car in her spot, turned off the engine, and laughed at the sight of April. A big grin sported her face, as the air conditioning blew on high from every direction, scattering long blond hair.

"Come up with me," she said, opening the door and making her way to her apartment.

"I can't believe you managed to get Sara's old apartment," he said, shaking his head. "Furnished, even."

"It works," she replied, making her way through the front door to the compact kitchen off to the side. Dropping her keys on a side table, she dropped her light jacket on a hook, and headed into the living room.

Flopping on the couch, she said, "Help yourself to anything."

When she felt the light nibbling on her neck, and the dip in the couch as he sat, she smiled.

"Anything?" he asked, comically waggling his eyebrows. The humor fell from his face, though, when she didn't answer.

She'd been struggling with a decision, as they'd spent more time together, sometime clubbing, lately snuggling on the couch before or after work. It surprised Greg when she stood and faced him, her face sober.

"I was very young when my mother died," she said. "For that matter, I was such a late-in-life child that my father and I related in a much different way than my friends did with their father. Heck, by the time I was ten, my father was nearing social security."

Pacing in front of him, she continued, "I think a lot of this makes up the relationship I have with my father. Because of it, we're close. We talk about everything. Including life, love, and intimacy. We talked about sex before marriage, and I know his opinion. He told me my mother was the first woman he'd slept with. I guess in some ways, I'm old fashioned - I take after him."

Finding and holding Greg's eyes, she added, "I've slept with one other person before. We'd dated for a long time, and I thought I loved him. It turns out it was infatuation and nothing more. I promised myself that I'd only have sex if it was with someone I loved."

Standing in front of her, Greg ran his fingers over her face. Feeling awkward and nervous, he asked, "What do you feel about _me_?"

In answer, she pulled his head down and kissed him deeply before whispering, "Will you come to bed with me?"

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Sara was getting frustrated. The one-on-one counseling was going well. Her nightmares were fading a bit. Her relationship with her husband was going nowhere.

Sitting in front of his desk, facing him, she asked for the third time, "What time are you planning on leaving?" only to have him ignore her. Again. However, when she stood, her stance angry, he blankly looked up at her.

"I'm sorry, dear. Did you ask me something?" he asked, as soon as he realized he'd been so completely lost in thought he was ignoring her.

"Yes. When are you planning to leave?"

Grissom sat back in his chair and looked at the paperwork in front of him with a sigh. "Probably not for a couple of hours. Budget reports are due."

"I think I'll see if someone can take me home, then," she said. "Don't stay too late." With a look and a wicked grin, she made her way out of his office. For a moment, he smiled, but it didn't last long.

Staring down at his desk, he thought back to the last few weeks. He'd missed the signs himself, at first. The signs were evident at the pile-up on the two-fifteen, when Grissom made the startling realization of what was happening. Yet, everyone else still missed them, including his wife. He simply hoped nobody would notice how pale he'd become over the past few weeks – not for a little while longer – not until he figured out what to do.

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A/N – Well, he did it. He laid in bed at home, and before he knew it Login was standing on Review's doorstep. She'd been crying, and the guilt had overwhelmed him. He listened while she talked, and for a moment, they both remembered that once upon a time, they'd been friends.


	57. Chapter 57

Grissom sat at his desk in the middle of shift, staring at his journal for what seemed an eternity. It had been another day on the job, another pointless death, and an endless monotony of collecting data for a slam dunk case. This time it was a little girl, all dark eyes and curly hair. He'd had a hard time not seeing Sara in that tiny figure, beaten beyond anything recognizable.

He focused back on his journal, which he knew their counselor would want to read later that morning in session. Picking up his pen, he wrote.

_How has Sara impacted my life. Apparently my latest journal entries haven't satisfied the counselor. Fine._

_It's frustrating to love somebody and live with the constant fear that they're going to walk out on you. I didn't take a chance when she got to Las Vegas, because I figured that what I felt differed from her – that she was just infatuated, and eventually she'd get tired of me. Apparently, on that I was wrong. Did I hurt her? Yeah. Does she even realize how all of it hurt me? I don't know. But it did hurt me. It hurt that she couldn't recognize that I'm human back in those early years, and that the choice she was giving me was beyond my grasp to make. Every time she wouldn't just stop and stay in one damn spot so I could talk to her, it hurt. How was I to compete with her restlessness?_

_Later, when we started spending time together, it was great. I think for the first time, I felt real peace. I'd made the right choice, but I also know that without the struggle to get from point A to point B, we would have never survived. We would never have developed the relationship we have now. And then there's her leaving._

_Am I paranoid of her being gone? Yes. Does she know this? I hope not. It's simple. My greatest fear came true the day she left me that goddamn letter. I think the only reason I keep it safely tucked in my desk is so I can read the words 'I love you' over and over. Otherwise, I'd burn it. Some days I wake up and feel panicked if she's not in the bed with me. The other morning, I thought I was going to be sick because I didn't see her note right away saying she had to go to work early to accept a shipment. I started shaking in the shower._

_Right now, I need her help, and I'm terrified to ask. She never asked for this. How can I ask her to watch it happen?_

Placing his pen carefully on his desk, Grissom slowly closed the journal and stowed it in his bag.

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Sara sat in a small café with Catherine, having just assisted on gathering the evidence. While Nick had transported the samples and log sheets back to the lab, the women had opted to grab a quick bite to eat.

"So, Sara. How have things been going with you since your mother left?" Catherine asked. "Between a pile-up of cases, and you getting the prototype together – which I still haven't seen, by the way – we've barely talked."

Chewing thoughtfully, she replied, "Things have been pretty good. I think I've come to terms with a few things – my mother, myself. My relationship with Gil." Her eyes dimmed a bit when she said his name, and she quickly looked down at her coffee to hide the concern.

"What's wrong?" Catherine asked, noting the change in demeanor. Concern had her leaning forward.

Shaking her head, Sara responded, "I don't know. The last week or two, something's been completely off. He's been coming into work alone and staying late. He stops by my research lab more frequently, but when he does… he doesn't say anything."

Taking a sip of water, Sara stared at the plate of food in front of her, finally pushing it away. "Something's bothering him, and he won't talk about it."

"What are you going to do?"

Heaving a sigh, Sara finally said, "Hope our counseling session today helps." Then cringed when she realized she'd just said that out loud.

"Counseling?" Catherine asked, her brows raised in curiosity.

"Yeah," Sara replied. "I started seeing a psychologist to help with the nightmares. She suggested Grissom and I see her together, as well." Leaning back in her chair, she gave an exaggerated grin and said, "Yep, I've got two hours a week, dedicated to my mental health." Blowing out a breath, she said, "One of that's couple's counseling."

"Has it helped?" Catherine asked, now curious and slightly amused at the thought of Grissom seeing a counselor.

"Come on," Sara said standing, tossing some bills on the table. "Let's get back to the lab."

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While Sara assisted Catherine on her case, April worked her way through the latest revision to her software, giving a resounding course of swear words when the entire system crashed yet _again_. It wasn't until she pulled the headphones from her ears that she swiveled around to find Greg sitting on the couch watching her.

"You know, your language is really impressive. I'm sure your parents would be proud," he smirked, making his way toward her.

"Hey stranger," he murmured, wrapping his arms around her waist, smiling as he bent to kiss her. Eventually, hugging her more tightly, she sighed, "I missed you last night."

"Long shift," he grunted. Nodding toward her systems, he added, "Show me what has you swearing."

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, she led him to her workbench, and proceeded to explain her code, until she noticed his eyes glazing. Laughing, she glanced at the clock, and said, "I assume you're done?"

"Yeah," he replied. "I just wrapped up my case."

"How about you come home with me and I feed you?" she asked. When his eyes glazed a little, April smirked, "Get your mind out of the gutter, Sanders."

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Her counseling was going pretty good, and she said so. "The nightmares are still there, but more… controllable, I guess I'd say," Sara stated. "The most predominant one is still where I can see him, but Gil's just too far out of each. I can't get to him."

"Do you have any ideas why?" Dr. Granger asked.

Thoughtful, a tinge of sadness quieting her voice, Sara said, "Yeah. Something's wrong, and I can't help him. He won't talk about it."

Nodding in return, the psychologist said, "After last week's session, I was wondering. I'm glad you brought it up, because perhaps you can bring it up in session today."

Smiling, Sara replied, "Yeah. I think maybe I will."

When Sara's one-on-one counseling finished with Dr. Granger, she and the psychologist were both surprised to find Gil had not yet arrived. Frowning, Sara tried calling him, only to be sent to voice mail.

"Something must have come up," Sara stated, a tendril of worry creeping through her. "Can we reschedule?" she asked, "I'll call and set up a time."

That worry seemed to creep deeper into her, making her damn near shiver, as she made her way home in the already hot sun. When she saw his car in the garage, she heaved a sigh, but didn't immediately get out of her own vehicle. Her husband had just blown off their counseling session, and she wasn't sure why.

For nearly half an hour, she sat behind the wheel, thinking back the last couple of weeks. It had started at the pile-up. She hadn't noticed anything before then. But after that he'd slowly begun to pull away, preferring seclusion. When he _did_ seek her out, it was never to talk, but just watch her – sometimes with doleful eyes.

In fact, at times he was so distracted, she had to call him several times just to get his att—

It was in that moment everything clicked into place, and the stifling heat of the garage seemed to overwhelm her. Shaking slightly, she made her way into the house, and found him sitting on the edge of their bed.

"How often is your hearing cutting out?"

"A couple times a day. More progressively than the first time around," he replied, staring at the wall. "I'm going deaf." _There, I said it._

Stunned silence followed him into the living room, where he flipped through channels. It surprised him when she placed a hand on his cheek, turned his head, and signed, "I love you."

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A/N – No one knows that they're spending time together once the reader leaves the page. Login and Review wait until their shift is over, and if possible, spend hours together talking or enjoying each others company. But it wasn't until the night Communities was taken from them – buried in a box – that they realized just what they had, and that it was worth fighting for.


	58. Chapter 58

A/N – Another day, another installment. I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer – Once upon a time in the land of Oz, nobody got sued in Munchkin-land.

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Nick and Greg were sitting in the break room when they got the call from Caesar's. Security had four old men in custody, waiting for LVPD. They fit the names and descriptions of the men wanted for breaking and entering, not to mention assaulting a representative of the police department.

Astonished, because so much time had passed without the men ever showing up back at home in Chicago, both CSIs listened to Brass explain.

"We're not sure they would have ever gotten caught before heading home to the Windy City, had one of them not won the Progressive slots jackpot," Brass explained, shaking his head with humor. "They're in holding. Care to join me in the interview?"

Within the hour, they were walking into an interview room at police headquarters. While Greg pulled up a chair to the end of the table, Nick leaned against the wall, as Brass leaned over the other end of the table.

Looking at the men on either side, Brass let the aged men begin to slightly squirm under his gaze. When they looked sufficiently sober, Brass finally looked at the short, squat man who sat next to a rail-thing octogenarian on one side of the table, and said, "Carl Tucker, 79 years old, resident of Chicago, Illinois, married for 51 years, two kids." Leaning down, putting his face only inches from the elderly and perpetually frowning man, Brass asked, "Does your wife know where you are Carl?"

Looking to the wan man next to Carl, Brass shook his head. "Mr. Meryl Werner, 83 years old, also a Chicago resident. It says here you've been married for 62 years."

Standing up straight, Brass nonchalantly made his way around Greg to the other side of the table. Meanwhile, Greg and Nick remained with their arms crossed, silent.

Standing behind two men who looked as if they could be brothers, Brass added, "Earl Schneider, 81 and Norm Garter, 82." Huffing out a breath, Brass moved to stand at the table, facing Greg. "Does _someone_ here want to explain just what the hell you have been up to?"

The four men glanced nervously, looking for a moment like four little boys being scolded for being out playing too late.

"It's easy enough," Carl finally said, when Earl started coughing roughly. "The four of us have been good friends for over fifty years. When Earl here hit a mid-life crisis over forty years ago, we came here on a lark – a boys' weekend of sorts, while our wives went off to do some girl thing together."

Taking on the story, his voice soft with age, Meryl took up the story. "We got to talking about what it would have been like to be gangsters. I'm not talking like the thugs now, but the ones way back when we were growing up. Then one night while we were here, we got drunk, and decided to see if a bunch of middle-age guys from the suburbs could pull of a real job." Smiling softly, he concluded, "We did. We didn't take anything expensive, but… we did it. Each one of us planned an executed something on our return trips, making sure to stay away from the major casinos or anything known to be owned by the mob."

A quiet, broken only by the occasional rough cough or soft wheeze of the old men, settled over the room for a moment.

"Why now?" Nick suddenly asked, "What were you planning on achieving this time?"

Earl, painfully thin and frail-looking, raised a shaking hand. He then ran the hand through his hair, as if it were a ritual that perhaps had made him his once black mane go silver and thin over the years. "That would be my fault," his wheezing thin voice said. "My darling Gloria died a few years back. I'm due to join her soon. Cancer. I haven't got much time left, and I… I just wanted…" he left off, casting his eyes down to the table.

Laying a hand on his friend's, Norm finished, "We wanted, just for a moment, to see if we were still alive." A grin that had once been handsome and youthful broke over the nearly bald man's face when he laughed, "And for just awhile longer, we were."

Very sorrowfully, Earl looked over to Greg and said, "Son, you have no idea how bad I feel for knocking you down like that. I've felt nothing but guilt since then. It was just a game – break in the same way we had before, and leave a note. It stopped being a game when I saw that door smash you."

Wincing a little at the fact it was a terminally ill man who managed to knock him unconscious, give him a concussion, and leave him with two black eyes, Greg mumbled, "No problem." And thinking through his own research for his book, studying old gangsters and the romance behind the image, Greg could understand the draw.

As the men were led away, Brass stepped out to talk to the booking officer. Greg watched them slowly amble out of the room, and felt a pang of sympathy. When he asked, "Do you think the courts will go easy on 'em?" Nick answered, "Probably. Especially if the injured party were to make a statement." That was precisely what Greg intended to do.

When Greg finally glanced over at Nick, the Texan gave a feral grin, making Greg groan.

A couple of days later, Greg found he was right to be concerned. On the bulletin board he found a Wanted poster, Earl's picture taped onto it, with a picture of an injured Greg and a list of exaggerated charges. The contrast between the feeble old man and the young, injured Greg had everyone in the lab jibing him for days and days and days.

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If anyone noticed how tense Sara and Grissom seemed to be without the other around over the next week or so, they didn't say anything. The fact was, every time Grissom went out on a crime scene, she felt real fear for his safety. Sitting in the car, having processed the outside of a house – the scene of a brutal murder, with a woman's head bashed in beyond recognition – Sara watched him slowly stroll across the driveway toward her.

When Brass called him over, Sara knew he'd be awhile longer and closed her eyes, resting. It gave her time she didn't want. It was time for her in which to contemplate what her husband was experiencing. The specialists they'd seen didn't believe it was possible for surgery to be effective. He'd simply waited too long last time – put it off too long. She knew he felt guilty about being such a procrastinator, and not dealing with the hearing loss sooner those years ago. If pushed, he would admit to her that when he didn't know an answer or was scared, he froze.

When the car door opened, Sara watched Grissom climb into the passenger side, and shoot her a distant smile, which faded to thoughtfulness as soon as the door closed. Quietly, they drove, until she finally said, "Gil, we need to tell them."

For a moment, she thought maybe he hadn't heard, until he nodded once, "I know. I have an appointment with Ecklie later this morning. Before I tell them team, I need to know my options at the lab."

Nodding silently, Sara gripped the steering wheel hard, and asked, "Would you like me there?"

"No, dear. I think I need to handle this alone," he replied, and closed his tired eyes for the rest of the drive to the lab. Upon arriving, Sara checked their evidence into the logs, and placed it in a locker. After delivering evidence to DNA, smiling at the swing shift tech, then hauling a couple of bags to Trace, she eventually made her way toward the break room.

"Hey, Sara?" Catherine called out, as Sara poised to grab herself a cup of coffee. "Can I speak with you?"

"Sure," she replied, following the blonde supervisor down the hall to her office. Taking a seat across facing Catherine's desk, she asked, "How can I help you?"

"I'm going to ask you a question, and I'd like a yes or no," Catherine said, eyeing the younger woman. "Is Grissom having problems with his hearing?"

Feeling the air leave her lungs, Sara sat back in her chair, and wondered how Catherine could have known. "Yes."

Smiling grimly, Catherine explained, "I remember the first time he had problems with his hearing cutting in and out. I'm starting to notice similar behaviors. He's focusing on reading lips at times – I saw him doing it to me a couple of days ago. When does he go in for surgery?"

A thick silence formed in the room, as Sara worked through the best words to use in explanation. "I… can't say anything right now, Catherine. You need to wait for Grissom to say something." Uncomfortable, awkward, and worried, Sara stared straight at the blonde, before rising. "If you need me, I'll be with Greg in layout." Slowly, numbly, she made her way down to the evidence room to take care of her obligations.

As soon as the brunette left, Catherine rose, strolling thoughtfully and determinedly toward Grissom's office. She'd seen the truth in Sara's eyes, even if her subordinate hadn't said anything. Catherine didn't bother knocking on the door before entering and taking the seat across from him.

"Can I help you with something, Catherine?" he asked, with a tone of irritation in his voice.

"Actually, Grissom, you can. You can tell me what's got you and Sara so quiet lately." She'd chosen those words carefully, hoping the word 'quiet' would prompt him into discussion. When he didn't say anything, she sighed. About the time she'd given up on given an answer, he spoke.

"I may need to resign my position," he said. "I'm telling you right now because you may need to step in and take over. I'll be talking to the rest of the team in the next few days, once I know more about what's going to happen."

Picking up a folder, he flipped it open on top of his desk, effectively signaling her to leave. Making her way down the hall, something close to grief filled Catherine. Making her way to the locker room, she shut the door, sat down on the bench, and laid her head in her hands, letting tears fall for a moment.

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Punching in his code to the research lab, Greg found April sitting at a desk, hooking up an input from the prototype headgear to her computer. Typing at some keys, she sighed, stretched out her shoulder muscles and yawned.

"Tired?" he asked, when she turned to smile at him.

"A little," she admitted. "That phone call from dad woke me up."

"You think it woke _you_ up," Greg muttered, feeling awkward at the memory. He'd forgotten he wasn't at home, so when the phone rang next to his head, he wasn't even awake when he picked it up and grunted, "H'lo," in a thick voice.

"I have to say, I don't think I've ever seen you wake up quite so fast," April laughed.

"Yeah, well…" Greg said, "It was a little uncomfortable talking to your dad, while in bed with you."

When she simply kissed one cheek, while softly patting the other with her fingertips, and said, "Don't worry about it, Greg," he had a feeling the topic had been dismissed.

Making her way to the coffee pot, she poured a cup of the re-heated java and winced at the taste. "What're you doing here, anyway? I thought you were on a scene."

"Got back. Sara is probably in the layout room already. I just wanted to stop in and say hello," he murmured. Frowning, he asked, "I know I should just ask them, but… what's up with Grissom and Sara? They're acting strange."

"I wish I knew," April said earnestly. "I was talking to Sara about the policeman's ball a couple of weeks ago. She and Gil are supposed to be attending it next month. Apparently, Jim talked them into tickets almost two months ago. Anyway, we had big plans to go find just the perfect dress a few days ago. She blew it off. She also blew off plans for lunch the last two times we've made any kind of arrangements. Granted, one of those times she was at a crime scene."

Blowing out a breath, Greg replied, "Whatever it is, I have a feeling it's big."

Giving her a quick kiss on the cheek, he said, "I should get back to layout. Sara's probably waiting for me." Picking up her cup, he took a sip of the thick brown liquid, and made a gagging noise, making her laugh. With a salute, he was gone.

Later, with everything processed, Sara and Greg their made to the graveyard supervisor's office, and plopped down on the couch.

"We're still waiting on autopsy, so anything we have is speculative," Sara said. "But if it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, and walks like a duck, it's probably not a cat."

At Greg's groaned, "Oh dear God, you're channeling Grissom," the man in question smirked.

"Go ahead and give me what you know," he nodded to Sara.

"First, the vic is a thirty seven year old woman in a nasty divorce battle with her soon-to-be ex-husband. Said ex has a restraining order against him," she started. Looking up, Sara watched Brass enter the office.

"According to the court transcripts for the restraining order edict, which by the way got very very nasty, the ex made some very vocal statements about wanting his wife dead," Brass stated dropping a copy of the transcript on Grissom's desk.

"So we're back to the duck, huh?" Greg asked.

"Right now, that's where the evidence fits. However, keep in mind the evidence is not all in, and reserve final judgment until _after_ Robbins is finished," Grissom stated. "And if that's all, I have more paperwork to do."

Glancing up at the clock, Greg said, "Well, it looks like shift's almost over. I'm gonna write up my notes and see if April wants to head out." With that, he walked out the door.

Brass stood there, a big grin on his face, leaning against the door. "So, Grissom. Still in denial that Greg's dating your sister-in-law?"

Grissom meanwhile was trying to read Brass's lips. He should have felt relieved that his hearing hadn't faded out on him at any other point in the day. The fact remained, his hearing was slowly fading, and everything he'd worked for in his life was about to change.

He came back to the present when his hearing cleared, and he heard Brass's laughter.

Noting the expression on her husband's face, Sara laughed at Brass and clearly said, "Grissom's not in denial so much as pretending it's not happening at all. There's a difference. One requires him to tell himself on a regular basis that it's not happening. The other requires he only not hear Greg when he makes comments like that!"

Walking over to the detective in hopes of distracting him, Sara said, "I'm hungry. Breakfast?"

As the two left his office, Grissom glanced at the clock, and sighed. Standing, he grabbed the notes he'd written during his last doctor's appointment. It was time to meet with the deputy director of the forensics lab, and steeling himself he made his way down to Ecklie's office.

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A/N – They got him back. He was hurt, and emotionally strained for a long time, but Login and Review felt such immense relief over having Communities back. Login and Review have realized that some things, like differences of their location on the page, and other artificial impediments don't matter. They've decided that they need to keep it to off the page and out of their "professional" life, but at the end of the day… it's just the two of them.


	59. Chapter 59

A/N – I just want to say thanks to everyone for sticking in with this story. I apologize for the delay in getting chapters out. Life has been a hectic pain in the behind lately.

Disclaimer – If a disclaimer falls in the woods and no one is around to hear it, does anyone really care?

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Grissom arrived home, immediately showered, and climbed into bed to find Sara with her eyes closed, under the covers, and facing away from him. When the mattress dipped under his weight, she rolled over. Propping herself up on her arm, she watched something akin to grief wash over his eyes, and reached out a hand, trailing her fingers across his cheek and down his neck.

She didn't ask what happened in his meeting with Ecklie. Long ago, Sara had learned to give him time to think and contemplate. Pressuring him would do nothing but aggravate them both. Instead, she said, "I love you. Always know that I love you."

Closing his eyes, he shifted under the covers, until she lay against him. With a sigh mixed with resignation and fate, he let the air from his lungs waft across her skin, forcing a shiver. Eventually, he said, "Thank you, dear. I needed to hear that."

With a slight nod, she pulled him closer, until their limbs entwined, and she could feel his heart dully thudding against her chest.

His whispered, "I just need to feel something right now," gave her enough to understand just how painful the ordeal with Ecklie had been. He so rarely asked for anything, and even more rarely allowed what he felt to control him.

With taste, sound, touch… every sense available, she explored, and let him reciprocate. Yet when he finally fell off into a hazy, dreamless sleep, she lay awake wishing beyond everything that something could be done. As she watched him sleep, Sara knew what would be happening. She mourned for him.

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A couple of days later, Greg woke startled from what he figured was a nightmare. However, when the fog from his brain began to clear, he still heard the pounding that had jarred him from a way too vivid dream regarding clowns and mobsters. Muttering, he glanced at the clock, and realized it was not even five in the evening. Hours before he needed to be up.

To make matters worst, he'd just pulled a double, and barely crawled into bed, knowing he would need to be up and moving in a few mere hours. Unfortunately, due to an expected visit from a repairman for his refrigerator, he'd also decided he needed to sleep at his apartment.

Heaving a sigh, he threw on a pair of jeans, and had barely buttoned them before, squinting his eyes into the early evening glare of the Nevada sun. Still feeling a little groggy, he didn't really make out the figure, as it stood in the doorway, obscured by light, until the shadow spoke.

"Hello, Greg," Dennis said, standing on the young man's doorstep.

"Huh?" Greg uncomprehendingly replied. "Dennis?"

As years of training by every female in his family took root, Greg suddenly stepped back, realizing he was being rude. "Please," he slightly slurred, "come in."

Shutting the door after April's father, Greg made his way into the living room and winced at the mess. Since he'd been spending all of his time with April in her apartment, he hadn't really bothered to clean up his own place. Truth be told, he hadn't really bothered to do a good dig-out of the place in at least six months.

"Can I get you something?" Greg asked, feeling awkward without a shirt, and the sudden realization that he'd missed a button on his button-fly pants, so they hung unevenly. "Beer? Soda? Water?"

"No, thank you," Dennis replied.

"If, um… If you'll just give me a sec," Greg rambled. "Stay right here," he finally said, and made an ambling dash into the bedroom to retrieve a shirt. Before coming back out, he made a quick bee-line for the bathroom attached to his bedroom, splashed a little water on his face, and slowly made his way to speak with his guest.

While Dennis seemed content at sitting on the couch, Greg said, "I'm making some coffee," and began the java brewing process. In the few minutes it took him to ground, measure, and get the pot going, he found that the nerves he thought were dead in the demanding serial assault case were springing back to life, unanticipated and unwanted.

Finally seated, the aroma of coffee spreading out from the kitchen, Greg took a seat across from Dennis, took a deep breath, and steeled his nerves. Very soberly, he said, "I assume you want to talk."

Letting out a bit of a breath at the straight-forward young man in front of him, Dennis wondered for what must have been the millionth time what had possessed him to drive to Las Vegas from San Francisco without notice. He'd always considered himself to be fairly laid back. Having raised his child for some years without a wife or other female to influence her, he'd had to learn to provide for April as a mother would, not just as the father he was. Without reservation, he could say he trusted his child.

"What are your intentions?" popped out of Dennis' mouth, perhaps surprising himself even more than Greg.

The young CSI's eyebrows shot straight up, and a look of bewilderment crossed Greg's face. When he opened his mouth, a small grunting sound escaped, like whatever needed to be said was stuck at the back of his throat, unable to escape. Blowing out a harsh breath, he finally said, "I'll let you know as soon as I have the answers, myself."

Making his way over to pour a cup of coffee, he watched Dennis' brows knit into a frown.

"Excuse me?" Dennis asked.

Taking a gulp, and nearly scalding his tongue, Greg cringed in pain at the common ritual, and said, "We're working it out. I don't know. To tell you the truth, I don't have much experience feeling like… this… toward anyone. I'm figuring it out."

"Then can I explain what you're doing having sex with my child?"

The minute the words were out of his mouth, Dennis regretted them. He trusted his daughter implicitly. Their relationship had always been honest, open, and accepting, so he frowned harder. _Where did the over-protective crap come from?_

For a moment, Greg simply stared at Dennis in surprise, and then the smile began to form of its own volition.

Shaking his head, Greg said, "I'm assuming you haven't talked to April."

At Dennis's questioning look, he added, "We're sleeping together. There's a difference between sleeping together and having sex. If you'd talked to April, she would have clarified this."

The frown on the Dennis's face disappeared and a look of confusion etched itself into his features. "I don't understand."

"Obviously," Greg said, thinking of how April would react if she knew her father was here having this conversation. Just as suddenly, his humor fell, as he realized the implications of Dennis sitting in his apartment. "Sir, I can understand that you are a bit… leery about me. However, I can tell you my intentions are honest." _Nana would be proud of me right now that I listened to this particular lecture._

"The fact is, the only reason we haven't had sex is because we're not ready – I'm not ready. We haven't known each other quite long enough, and while this may not have particularly stopped me from a physical relationship in the past, what April and I have is amazing. _I_ really don't want to move too fast," Greg soberly stated. "She means the world to me."

"Well. Okay," Dennis muttered, at a sudden loss for words.

For a moment, he just watched the young man, who seemed to truly care about April. Cataloging in his mind, Dennis had already decided that the unfortunate incident upon meeting him would count as a point in his favor. He obviously knew how to love deeply, or his feelings about Sara wouldn't have prompted the volatile reaction they did.

With a smile gracing his aged face, Dennis stood, and slowly held out a hand. "It sounds like I should just mind my own business," he said, ruefully.

As Greg escorted Dennis to the door, he debated with himself, until he finally said, "I sleep with her. Just sleep; and it feels right." Standing in front of the still-closed front door, he added looked Dennis in the eye and continued, "I know I've never felt so _connected_ to another woman in my life."

Blowing out a defeated breath, Dennis realized that maybe Greg _was_ the right man for his daughter. A deep grin etched his face, as he pulled open the door, and said, "I can tell by how April talks about you, that you matter. It's a little hard for a father to admit that his little girl is moving into another chapter of her life. For the first time, I'm not the main character."

Greg watched a small wave of sorrow pass over Dennis's face, and for a moment wondered what it was going to feel like when or if he faced the same fate.

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Sitting on the couch, flipping through channels, Grissom faced a challenge that was inevitable. With annoyance, he switched on Closed Captioning, as his hearing reverted to only a faint echo. The pain he felt when he realized he hadn't even heard Sara calling his name was nearly physical – like a sucker-punch.

As she approached him, Sara made a few hand signals, and watched his eyes shoot up.

"When did you learn to do that?" he asked, the surprise of her signing overtaking the gloomy mood that had settled over him. He'd known she could do simple signs, but the more complex ones truly surprised him.

Sheepishly, she signed, "Remember the case with the deaf boy from the deaf school? It interested me. So, I learned."

When he yanked her down onto him on the couch, he could feel her laugh under his palm, as he ran it under her neck. With a smile, he kissed her, and something occurred to him that hadn't in all the time he'd worried over his condition. At the end of the day, he still had a home, something he never thought he'd crave so much.

"It's time," he said. "I'm going to speak with Catherine and Brass today. I'll speak with the team next week, but Catherine and Jim need to know why I can't go into the field."

Nodding, she kissed him again, letting it linger, and then hugged him tight.

As his hearing slowly drifted back in, Grissom sighed.

Looking at her face, he said, "I'm going to miss the sound of your laugh most of all."

"Just remember you'll always be able to feel my laugh, baby," she murmured, kissing her husband again, and letting herself sink into him. When she rose and led him to the bedroom, Grissom realized the other thing he would miss – the sounds she made when he touched her, or the way she said his name.

Sitting next to her on the bed, he looked into her eyes and said, "I like it when you call me Gil or Gilbert." He didn't need to ask more, as understanding dawned in her eyes, and she smiled.

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A/N – Login is worried. He and Review had started this 'affair', initially to work each other out of their systems. However, she was upset the other day, and he found himself just needing to be there for her. What they've become is so much more than either anticipated. He can't seem to put into words what he's feeling right now, and it's beginning to scare him. The offer to be posted for a month on a different page came in, and he's decided to take it. He knows it's going to hurt her, but he needs some time and space to find out if what he's feeling is real…


	60. Chapter 60

A/N – Okay, I know it's a short one. I hope you like it anyway.

Disclaimer – My dog ate my disclaimer.

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Catherine arrived at the Grissom residence at an unfortunate moment. Gil's hearing had just tuned out in the middle of listening to a recorded lecture, and in a fit of rage, he'd thrown the recorder. A small dent lay in the taupe wall opposite him, and the ancient recorder lay on the floor, still intact. Adding insult to injury.

Stunned, Catherine stood frozen in the entrance to the living room. A sliver of fear ran through her, as she'd never seen her friend and confidant get this _volatile_ before. Sara walked around her supervisor and friend, and made her way to her husband.

His face rested in his hands, as he sat morosely on the couch. Touching his arm, she signed, "The lecture was that bad?" and he let out a huffing laugh. When she gave him a peck on the cheek, he turned his head and let himself drown momentarily in a kiss born of sheer frustration. It seemed to help a bit, as he ended it and rested his head against hers.

He knew the anger was to be expected, but the feeling of dread and weight on him the last couple of days had been something new. His hearing still only drifted out a few times a day, but it was becoming too damn frustrating. It always seemed to happen when he really wanted to hear something.

"I'm sorry, Sara. I'll fix the wall," he murmured, closing his eyes. Letting her lips drift above his ear, even knowing he wouldn't hear it, she whispered, "I love you."

Turning his head a bit, he murmured, "I can't hear you speak at the moment, but I can feel it. Thank you."

Grabbing his attention once more, she carefully signed, "Catherine's here," and watched her husband wince. "Yeah. She saw that," Sara confirmed for him.

As Sara turned and smiled at her, Catherine made her way into the room, looked Gil straight and the eye, and with a shaking breath said, "I never thought I'd see the day that the mighty Grissom would throw a tantrum." The more soberly stated, "It's good to know you're human," came out steadier.

Standing, Gil gestured, "Please, have a seat."

Ensconcing herself in the soft arm chair facing the couch, Catherine watched Sara rise at the sound of the doorbell, and gesture toward the front door to her husband. After she left, Catherine caught Grissom's gaze, and stared for just a moment. One thing she'd determined after years of working with and for the enigmatic bug man was that Grissom could slam down any and all emotion in his face and eyes. It surprised and scared her that she could see so many feelings, exposed to her.

When Sara and Brass entered the room, the still air in the room seemed to lift, as Gil turned his attention to a man he'd worked with and respected for so many years he'd lost count. Standing, he said, "Hello, Jim."

"What's goin' on?" Jim asked, taking the arm chair next to Catherine. Something had been off with his friend over the past few weeks, but he'd always known Grissom to be self-sufficient, and solve whatever bothered him without assistance. When he'd been summoned to meet at the Grissom residence, something had clenched in Brass's chest. However, he was also a man not to act until the information was in, so Brass had tried to repress any scenarios from running through his head.

"Is there any particular reason you've gathered us here?" he asked.

The sudden rush of sound came to Grissom with the ringing sound of tinnitus blaring at him, and he managed to completely miss Brass's question.

Watching Gil close his eyes, and scrunch his forehead like a nasty headache was setting on, the ball of fire in Brass's stomach flared, and for a moment true fear ran through his veins, like ice water. Leaning forward, he waited until Grissom raised his head, and asked again. "Why are we here?"

Opening his eyes, Gil leaned back in the couch and looked at Brass, then Catherine. Finally settling his gaze on Sara, he nodded and gave a slight tilt to his head, hoping she'd understand his message, _I can hear again_, and watched the small smile form on her lips.

"Jim, you're here because you will be the only detective with whom I work from now on. Catherine, you will be taking over direction in the field on most cases," Gil stated. Slowly rising from the couch, his throat suddenly felt amazingly parched. Abruptly, leaving everyone in the living room and making his way to the kitchen for a glass of water, he drank slow and deep, before returning. From his position in the archway leading into the room, he surveyed the group.

"My hearing cuts out at irregular intervals," he stated to the room at large. "It happens a few times a day. Sometimes for a couple minutes, at other times for longer. It's going to get progressively worse, until I can't hear at all."

Catherine, having already guessed at the situation, still felt the blow harsh and deep, and found herself staring at her lap. Hearing the man in question admit to his fate sheared away the image she'd always had of him – slightly invincible.

Brass, on the other hand, just muttered, "Well damn," with a slight smile. "I thought you were about to say you were dying."

Grinning at the detective, Gil gave a chuckle and said, "No, I wasn't planning on that." More seriously, he said, "I need to go over the details with you, though. You need to know the limitations of my job, especially in the field." Looking at Sara, he blew out a light breath and smiled, with no real joy behind the expression.

Taking a seat back on the couch, he felt Sara take his hand, and scoot a fraction closer, as if to physically provide moral support. Giving her a raised eyebrow and genuine grin, he turned back to Catherine and Brass, and then went into detail about his future with the LVPD forensics unit.

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A/N – Review has been throwing herself into her work lately. She's been trying to feel useful, while she misses Login. So when he suddenly showed up a day early looking for her, she was surprised. While she wasn't happy he'd left, she noticed the change in him – the lightness about him that hadn't been there before stunned her, and she couldn't help but smile…


	61. Chapter 61

A/N – First, I want to thank EVERYONE who has actually continued to read this. I've been amazed at the amount of response I've gotten from Restart since the beginning. I'd also like to say THANK YOU to everyone who has reviewed. I know the past couple of chapters, I haven't gotten replies back to a lot of people (between internet problems at home and being out of town, I haven't had a ton of time). So… thank you everyone, and I'll try to do a better job. I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer – The disclaimer can't come to the phone right now. Please let a message after the beep. BEEP.

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Stopping in the third store in as many hours, Sara sighed. "You know, normally I find shopping tedious and boring. This is just painful," she muttered, darkly glaring the racks in front of her. Flipping through a couple of dresses, she waited for it, and wasn't disappointed.

"You _must_ try this one on," April said. Rolling her eyes, Sara turned to April, determined to explain to her young step-sister, that while yet another dress might look good on a woman in her twenties, it was not particularly attractive on a woman past her mid thirties. However, when she turned to take the obligatory look, she was stunned.

Grinning widely, Sara fingered the material and ran her hand through the blue silk. The gold wrap that complimented it was stunningly embroidered with the same cobalt color of the dress. "Wow," she said, plucking the dress from April, making her way to the dressing room.

"So, what's going on with you and Gil?" April asked, standing outside the curtained cubicle. "Something's been up, and it seems you've been avoiding me."

"Of course I've been avoiding you," Sara sarcastically replied. "I'm really not that fond of shopping as a whole."

Feeling a bit impatient at the response, and knowing Sara was avoiding the issue, April huffed, "Sara, you know what I'm talking about." The young woman wasn't prone to irritation, but she was starting to really feel it, and it came through in that response.

When she didn't receive an answer, April figured she wasn't about to get one, until she heard the muffled sniffle from inside the dressing room. Tentatively pushing the curtain a bit aside, she found Sara sitting on the decoratively cushioned bench in her underwear, struggling to control her emotions. Gingerly sitting next to her, April wrapped an arm around Sara's shoulders.

The brunette leaned a little into April. After a few deep breaths, Sara whispered, "You can't tell Greg or anyone else. It's up to Gil to tell them. All right?" After receiving April's reluctant nod, as she hated keeping secrets, Sara finally explained the past few weeks – and the future.

When she'd finished, Sara – feeling stronger and more in control – stated, "By all rights, Gil should have talked to the team almost a week ago. He's been putting it off, not wanting to say anything just yet. He's telling them in the morning, after shift. All right?"

"Am I invited?" April asked, then gave her step-sister a beaming smile. "And if so, are you paying?"

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Meanwhile, Grissom stood in front of the mirror, glaring at his reflection. It hadn't been that long since he'd worn the damn tuxedo, but it didn't fit anymore. Turning to his side, he tried sucking in his stomach, and realized it simply wasn't going to work. Yes, with his stomach pulled in it fit better, but he didn't imagine he'd be able to go all night holding his breath. He'd simply have to get another one.

When he heard the door open and Sara make her way through the house, he stepped through the bathroom and bedroom, into the living room, while staring at his shoes, thinking, _At least __**these**__ still fit_.

"Honey? When did I put on all this weight?" he grumbled loudly, slowly tracing the sound of his wife down the hall to the kitchen. Coming to a halt, he felt himself steel against any embarrassment when April turned and got a glimpse of him. Her eyes glittered with laughter, and he found himself frowning – fiercely – in her direction.

"Don't laugh," he growled.

Helplessly, he turned toward Sara and held out his hands in defeat. "Seriously, when did I put on all this weight?"

Stepping forward, Sara kept a straight face, although her eyes danced with mirth. Raising a hand to his cheek, she kissed him quickly, and said, "What weight, dear?"

When he raised an eyebrow at her, she added, "The only thing I notice is that you're hotter now than you were a decade ago," and was astounded to see him flush. In all the years with him, she'd rarely see him blush or stammer. For some reason, she found this adorable, and leaned in for a more passionate kiss before murmuring, "You're better in a lot of ways than you were a decade ago."

He would have nuzzled and nibbled on her a little, had they not been interrupted by an "Ahem" by April, whom they'd both forgotten was in the kitchen with them.

"I do believe, on that note, I am leaving," she announced. Stopping in the doorway to the kitchen, she turned back to him and said, "Sara invited me to come to the Policeman's Ball. She said she could get me an extra pair of tickets. You might want to note the word _pair_ in that. You can guess who I'm bringing."

With a smirk, the blond spun back around, whistling her way out of the house, with the satisfaction of completely her regular mission of surprising her brother-in-law. April had discovered from the start that it was fun to simply shock Gil. From what she'd seen so far, she didn't think many people often did.

Chuckling, Sara grabbed Gil's hand and brought him into the bedroom, where she couldn't contain the laughter as he put on his work clothes, all the while mock-glaring at her.

Eventually sitting on the edge of the bed with her, he watched her slip into a sober, reflective mood. With Sara, it was always easy to tell when she had something on her mind. It reflected in her eyes, and shoulders, and at that moment, her shoulders were drooping, as was the spirit in her eyes. The tenseness in her shoulders gave another story, too. It indicated she was concerned or worried.

Sitting silently, he waited, and she finally spoke.

"I think you should get tickets for the team," she murmured, and then turned to face him. "I think they should all be there."

When he opened his mouth to reply, she put a hand to his lips and quickly said, "They're your team… _our_ team… I think that they should be there. They've been through a lot with us, and supported us along the way. All right?"

Removing her hand, he smiled gently, brushed his knuckles over her cheek, and replied, "I'll talk to them at breakfast."

Looking at the clock, he asked, "So, we have three hours until shift. Would you care to accompany me to this wonderful vegetarian place I know, my dear?"

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Shift went faster than anyone expected, and lasted an extra few hours on top of it all. It started with Nick and Warrick, on their way to a crime scene in a Denali, getting slammed from behind by a police cruiser. The cop car in question, had apparently been stolen at a shoot-out (the scene where Catherine, Greg, and Grissom were working), and the suspect in question died instantly of his injuries, regardless of air bag deployment.

Because Warrick ended up with a gash on his head, requiring medical assistance, Sara ended up getting called in to work with Nick on _his_ case, a DB out in Henderson, until Warrick was released from the hospital. Considering part of the crime scene had transferred from the scene of the shootout, Greg was sent over to process the police car.

In the end, no one from either scene even made it back to the lab before the end of the shift, and there was still a great deal of processing to be done, as everything had to be tagged, logged, put into storage, or dropped of for analysis. By the time everyone was ready to head out, it was lunch time.

Sitting in a corner booth, everyone managed to cram in, with Brass opting for a chair, so he didn't have to sit with Greg's elbow in his ribs while he ate.

Having been there so often over the years, the waitress walked up, asked, "the usual," and received nods of assent from everyone before even considering pulling out the menus. As everyone relaxed and grumbled about the shift, coffee was poured, and sips were taken. Enjoying the friendly banter – Catherine teasing Nick about a girl, Warrick talking quietly to Sara, Brass adding in his two cents – Grissom hated to interrupt. Yet, he knew it was time.

Clearing his throat loudly, Grissom looked around the table – at the product of twenty years of work. In each face, he saw his students and friends. Each one had come up through the ranks, often paying a price for serving their community. Yet they were all there, and _all_ of them were a glowing success. Pride had him swallowing hard and gripping his knees hard under the table in order to maintain some semblance of decorum.

Eventually, he said, "I'd like to thank you all for coming today."

With those simple words, Nick, Warrick, and Greg each felt the lightness fade into something rife with unidentified emotion. Each looked around the table, and caught expressions on the faces around them. Try as they might, Catherine, Sara, April, and Brass couldn't keep the raw ache from their eyes, as they waited patiently for the CSI supervisor to continue.

"I wanted to let you know…" pausing he cleared his throat. Taking a calming breath, he said, "I'm losing my hearing." As he waited for his words to sink in, he felt Sara's hand grasp his under the table and squeeze.

It took Gil ten minutes to answer their questions, and an hour to explain his future.

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A/N – Things have been going well between Review and Login. Around the others, they share secret grins, and occasional touches. He can't believe how lucky he is. Then one day he comes into his office and there's a miniat… Um… a jpeg of Review pinned under a car. He didn't MEAN to tell everyone that he loved her, but it was the only way to explain how the jpeg killer knew how much she meant to him.


	62. Chapter 62

A/N – Thank you everyone for reading this. I hope you enjoy the chapter.

Disclaimer – For CSI: It's owned by someone else. The saga of Login and Review are alllll mmmmiiiinnnnneeeeee.

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Nick sat heavily on the couch in the break room and stared at Mandy, as she poured herself a cup of coffee. She was angry with him, and he understood perfectly why. When Greg entered the room a few minutes later, he purposely glanced at Nick and asked, "So, Nick. Who are you bringing to the Policeman's Ball?" and watched the Texan's face tinge pink before dropping to stare at the floor.

Taking in the stiff stance of the fingerprint tech and the defeated shoulders of the CSI, Greg rolled his eyes and quietly said, "Guys, just go talk to Grissom and let him know you're together."

He wasn't surprised when Nick and Mandy both whipped their heads over and up to stare at him.

"You know?" Mandy asked, the apples of her cheeks turning a hint of pink, and a smile breaking the cross between irritation and melancholy on her face.

Greg smiled at her before looking to Nick. "I've known for awhile now." Catching the look the couple shot each other, he expanded, "It hasn't been obvious, but you're not quite as good as Sara and Gris at keeping it hush-hush. They're the masters."

Whistling slightly, he poured himself a cup of the java he'd prepped awhile ago, and made his way from the room. Before leaving, he turned back for a moment and clearly said, "Nick, why do you think I've been making it easy for you to get out of fingerprinting? You may have to come up with excuses to get out of it with the others, but I've been _volunteering_ to make sure you don't handle the evidence." With that, Greg jauntily sauntered from the room.

Nick stared at Mandy until she made eye contact and held. For several moments, they simply looked and watched.

"I want you with me," he softly stated. "Darlin', I want you to go with me more than anything."

"We could lose our jobs," she replied. "It's against policy. Look at what happened to Sara and Grissom."

Making his way steadily toward her, he pulled the cup from her hand and placed it in the sink. "If it comes to that, I can get another damn job," he stated, forcefully. "For that matter, you and I both know that you could get a job anywhere." Pausing, he watched her eyes widen in contemplation, and brought her back to reality with, "I love you."

Something softened in her eyes when her lips curved into a mild grin and she replied, "I love you too, Stokes."

Grissom stood outside the break room door, eyebrows raised, with Sara standing open-mouthed beside him… in shock. When Nick angled his head down, and kissed Mandy, Sara looked at her husband and whispered, "You'd better break it up before the rumor mill starts going."

"Why me?" he whispered back, only to hear her chuckle, "You're the supervisor. It's time to have the birds and the bees talk with them." When he turned his head, gave her his single raised eyebrow look, she walked off with a grin on her face.

Grissom purposely coughed before entering the break room. Making his way to the coffee pot, he poured a cup as his two subordinates composed themselves.

"My office. Five minutes," was all he said, making his way down the hall, wondering what the hell he was supposed to say to them.

Eventually sitting behind his desk, Grissom fought through his mind, trying to come up with something to say to his CSI and lab tech. He hadn't seen it coming, and felt slightly stunned that Nick and Mandy had developed such an _intimate_ relationship. Cringing at the thought of the word 'intimate', he suddenly felt like Conrad Ecklie and frowned down at his desk.

While Grissom may have understood why Conrad had asked the questions pertaining to his and Sara's relationship, it had felt like an invasion of something extraordinarily private. He didn't want to subject two of his people to the same uncomfortable feeling, but didn't see any way around it. The fact was, Grissom didn't have a choice but to make sure the credibility of the lab remained intact. It was either him or Ecklie, and he didn't think either would want to answer to Ecklie.

Their arrival had him silently gesture toward two chairs facing him across the desk. Looking from Mandy then to Nick, he said, "Please tell me you've been careful with handling evidence," in an almost pleading voice.

"Look, Grissom…" Nick began, only to be cut off with Grissom's hand going up, and the CSI supervisor's eyes flaring.

"Answer the question, Nick," Grissom stated.

"I've made sure, when our relationship shifted from friendship to romantic that someone else gathered fingerprints from the scene," Nick stated. "The most I've done is carry sealed prints to Mandy's lab to drop them off. The past few weeks, I haven't even done that much."

Looking at Mandy for confirmation, Grissom was happy to see her nod of affirmation.

Quietly, she asked, "Do we need to be looking for other jobs?" He could see the fear behind her eyes, and silently cursed existing lab policies, although understanding their purpose.

"You're not going to be fired," he stated. "However, we are going to have to work out a process where the two of you do not work together."

"Do I need to switch to swing shift?" Nick quietly asked, hating the idea, but understanding why it might be necessary.

Blowing out a breath, Grissom finally said, "No. I think we can write up a procedure that will cover you." Sardonically, he added, "It's not like you're her supervisor, which was part of the problem between Sara and I."

Taking a deep breath, Nick murmured, "Thanks, Gris."

For the next ten minutes, the three of them documented a process to be followed. Carrying the document down to Catherine's office, Grissom said, "You need to read this," before dropping it on her desk and walking out.

He found Sara in her lab. Punching in, he glanced at the working prototype and let out a soft whistle.

"May I?" he asked, indicating the V/R goggles. When she smiled and nodded, he realized she was on a video conference call and eased back to pick up her project out of sight of the camera. While she finished up the call and logged off, he placed the slim band around his head, bending the microphone toward his mouth, and sliding the ear piece down.

He was so focused, he didn't realize his hearing was fading out until Sara touched his arm, and he turned to stare at her lips. He could make out vague low sounds, but the different individual sounds merged into blobs of reverberation. Flipping up the thin VR screen in front of him, he stared at his wife and said, "I can't hear you right now."

When she signed back, "What do you think of my project?" he smiled, and signed back his opinion of it.

"The software is still being worked on," Sara said with her hands, reaching over to bring up April's latest version of the engine. Grissom was impressed with the CAD maps that formed on the screen, and he followed her instructions in testing the layout features. With some simple glances and pressing keys on a remote control, the level laser marked out the measurements of the room. Turning back to the screen, he let out a low whistle when he saw the entire room on the screen, and large areas marked out, indicating tables, desks, and a couch.

"I have a software engineer in Chicago putting together the objects part. He's not quite done yet," she signed and watched him smile.

"This is absolutely incredible," he said. Adjusting the microphone in front of his mouth once again, Grissom started making verbal notes, and laying virtual markers. While it was obvious the tags were not _exactly_ where the item in question truly sat in the room, great progress had been made overall.

Removing the headpiece, which Grissom was _positive_ Greg had a hand in cosmetically designing, he placed the item on the table and turned back to Sara, as low waves of sound began to come through more clearly.

He watched her smile, and clearly heard her ask, "How did it go?"

Letting out a sigh, he stepped forward, lowered his head to hers, and kissed her long and deep. Abruptly releasing her, she grinned quizzically at him. "What was that about?" she asked.

"It was to remind me that I'm still me. For a moment, I felt like Ecklie," he replied.

Chuckling, she said, "Then let me give you another reminder," and stood in the middle of her private lab, kissing her husband.

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Over the next week, Grissom wasn't sure whether he should feel annoyed or humbled by the behavior of his staff. It had started out in the field, when his hearing had faded out. He'd quietly asked Warrick and Greg to handle speaking with the victims, and gone inside the middle-class suburban home to gather evidence, leaving them outside. Since then, all of his CSI's had been constantly asking him if he was okay.

He wasn't sure whether to be annoyed one day or not, when he walked into his wife's lab in search of his CSI's and not finding them anywhere. Stepping in, he watched each of them turn toward him, with Greg and April flushing slightly in guilt.

"What's going on?" Grissom asked.

"They asked me to teach them to sign," Sara replied, smiling at her husband. "We didn't want to do it in the break room. Until you're ready to make the announcement, we don't particularly need the rumors floating around."

It was at that moment, he realized just how much he hated the fact that he would be completely deaf within a matter of months. Making his way to the couch, he sat quietly and laid he head in his hands, feeling frustrated and utterly helpless.

As his CSI's, and even Brass watched, Sara crouched down next to him, ran her hand through his hair, and waited for Grissom to raise his head.

"I love you, Gil," she quietly stated, unsure of whether he could hear her or not. "I know it's gotten worse and you haven't said anything. You can't hide from it, or pretend it's not happening." Moving her hand to cover his, she continued, "I will _always_ be with you. Good times and bad, baby. I'm here. So are your friends."

Nodding in semi-acceptance of her statement, he let out a breath and finally said, "I won't have to hear Greg's music, anyway."

Sara accepted the mild attempt of humor as a small step forward. A couple of days earlier, she'd tried to plug her ears, and hear nothing. She'd been able to remove the ear plugs and hear once again when the feeling became overwhelming. That was a trick he'd never be able to pull off.

Standing, she reached out a hand and helped him up.

For a moment, Grissom looked at the crew in front of him, and felt himself choke up with pride. Taking a calming breath, he continued the perusal, until he finally said, "How far have you gotten? I'll help."

Ignoring the assignment slips for another ten minutes, he walked them through a few basic signs.

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A/N – He could only think, _They found her. They found her. They found her,_ until he reached where she lay still on the desert floor. No one seemed surprised when he jumped into the chopper beside her. She hadn't had to stay in the hospital long, but he never left her side. Somewhere along the way, he knew his life would never be right without Review with him. He just wished he knew how to say the words. As the first couple of months passed, and they dealt with the ramifications of breaking the fan fiction romance rules, he found himself unable to help her. The shadows in her eyes became deeper… darker. He asked her to stay with him forever, and for a moment, her usual clarity was there, when she said, "Yes". So, they'd made a commitment, true and forever.

Yet the shadows remained. Until one day, she broke, unable to hide from a past over which she had no control. She wrote words across a fan fiction page, and left him – feeling bereft, and like a failure. Every day he woke, his heart aching, but remembering an important part of her letter – _I'll miss you with every beat of my heart_.


	63. Chapter 63

A/N – Okay, it's a short chapter, but I needed to set up the last chapter of the story.

Disclaimer – If I were CBS/Paramount, I would choose to be flattered, and not ever sue anyone. (hint, hint, hint…)

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She'd met him in his office, watching as he pulled the name plate off his desk.

Gil Grissom, Supervisor would no longer grace the office, and she watched his face deflate, as his mask slipped away. A pang of sorrow passed through her, and she made her way to stand in front of him, running her fingers over the stubble on his face.

Looking around the office, he gripped her hand, blew out a breath and with blazing resolution in his eyes, he dropped the name plate in the trash. She smiled as the blue orbs deepened in color, and a flash of certainty passed through them.

"I'm ready," he stated, his voice firm and unwavering. "It's time to start the rest of our lives."

Wrapping his arms around Sara, Gil laid his cheek against hers, and she whispered, "I love you, Gilbert."

Together they made their way out into the warm Las Vegas morning.

They had one more event they had to attend. Ecklie had come to them, addressing them together just a couple of hours before. Sara had been asked to present a prototype of her project. Word had already spread of her patented design, and many people were intrigued at the partnership developed between the lab and the private corporation. Gil was expected to speak to make an announcement.

The ride home from the lab had been achieved in silence.

No words were needed when she saw the anguish in his eyes, as it hit home he was no longer leader of his CSI's.

She'd met him halfway, when he'd moved toward her in their bedroom. No. Words were unnecessary, when they met together, consummated everything they loved in one another, and found comfort in the most basic human contact.

Holding each other through the day, asleep at times, and watching one another at others, they finally rose to meet the day and the event of that evening.

"Are you okay?" Sara asked, her head tucked under his chin and an arm draped over his waist. Feeling his hand move from her shoulder to her neck, rubbing gently at the pulse spot, she leaned out and kissed the base of _his_ neck before tilting her head up.

"When you left, you took me with you," he softly said. "You took the part of me that felt truly _awake_ with you. It taught me something."

As she opened her mouth to speak, he gazed into her eyes and said, "Let me finish."

"Your leaving taught me that while I can function and go on with life without you, having you with me makes everything a little brighter, and a lot more beautiful. I never knew beauty until I met you."

Reaching down gently, he laid his hand on her cheek and brushed away a tear falling from her eye. "We seem to make a damn good team," he stated. "Our life is changing, but I'm truly okay with it. I guess I just worry that it'll be too much for you."

Sitting up, Sara faced her husband, ran her hand up over his bare shoulders, across his neck, and then into his curls. Leaning in, she kissed softly and murmured into his lips, "You will always have me. Every part of me. When I left, I took you with me. Even then I had to be connected to you. Life without you is dull and uneven. It's livable, but you somehow make it brighter and steadier. I will _always_ be with you."

Pulling her to him, so they rested skin to skin with one another, he whispered words of every endearment he struggled to say, as he simply held.

Eventually, they rose to dress, and he watched in fascination as she rolled the stockings up her legs and hooked them to the garter.

Waggling his eyebrows at her, she laughed, "Does anyone else know about your stocking fetish?" and watched him blush slightly.

Joking and laughing, they prepared for the evening.

"How do you think everyone will take your announcement?" Gil asked, and Sara frowned slightly.

"I hope better than they took yours," she responded, putting the finishing powder on her face. Turning to her husband, she laughed at the mess he'd made of his tie. "I know it was a quick decision to make, but…"

"Are you sure it's what you want?" he asked.

"Yeah. I'm positive," she replied. "Plus, it'll give me more time with you."

Nodding his head in acceptance, Gil went back to seriously contemplating the bow tie that accompanied the tuxedo. Mangling the job once again, he looked pleadingly to Sara, who rolled her eyes, and said, "Don't look at me, hon. I'd probably end up strangling you with it."

Heaving out a sigh, he stuffed it in the pocket of his coat and said, "Maybe I can con Catherine into helping."

Becoming serious, Grissom quietly said, "Close your eyes. I have a surprise for you."

When she gave him an amused, questioning look, he smiled and reiterated, "Close your eyes. No peaking."

Once he was sure her eyes were tightly shut, he reached behind the bookcase, and pulled out the item he'd hidden there several days before. Moving to stand in front of her, he said, "There was a time when I never thought I'd find the woman to whom I should give this. Open your eyes."

Stunned, Sara watched as he opened the black satin box.

"When we got married, we had no rings," he murmured. Reaching down to take her left hand, he retrieved the simple square cut emerald ring. "I've been wanting to give this to you since I saw it."

As he slid the jewelry onto her ring finger, he looked into her eyes, and said, "The best decision I ever made was to ask you to marry me. Thank you for saying Yes."

Leaning in, she kissed him long and sweet, ignoring the tears rolling down her cheeks.

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A/N – She called. The ache deep within seemed to release if only for awhile. When Review asked him to come see her, he jumped at the chance, and made it to her in record time. He would have gladly left everything behind if she just asked. Yet she didn't ask him to leave his life behind.

Instead, she moved beyond what had broken her in the desert, and told him she wanted to go home – to their home. And on the way, she asked if they could pick up a bassinet…


	64. Chapter 64

A/N – Okay, this sucks. I intend to write an epilogue (actually, it was half done before I wrote chapter 63). However, it was hard writing this chapter, knowing it would pretty much be the end of the story.

Disclaimer – With around 20,000 stories up on the fan fic site for CSI, do you really think anyone's gonna notice li'l ol' me? I hope not. (If any lawyers for CBS/Paramount are reading this, you guys rock! Seriously. You must have a hard job, and I feel for you. Is the sucking up working?)

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They arrived 'fashionably late', meaning that by the time Sara found Catherine and explained the mess Gil had made of his bow tie, it was after eight o'clock, and the event actually began seating people at their assigned tables at seven thirty.

"You have no idea how much he appreciates this," Sara mildly said, watching her husband frown in her general direction. "The man is simply incapable." The tongue-in-cheek statement earned her a glare and he mumbled, "_You_ couldn't do it either," which had Catherine chuckling lightly.

Turning sober, Catherine asked him, "Are you ready for this?" and caught the guilty look he shot Sara.

Stepping back from Gil, she suspiciously asked, "What? What's going on?"

Looking around, Sara quietly said, "He's not the only one making an announcement tonight. I'd hoped…" she trailed off. The wistful tone changed to something more determined and she said, "I'd hoped to speak with the team before we take our seats."

Suddenly alarmed and the hairs on the back of her neck standing out, Catherine pulled out her cell phone, and sent text messages to the graveyard shift's team. It was while they awaited everyone's arrival in the small parlor to the side of the massive ballroom that Ecklie managed to find them.

"So… Grissom… Gil," Ecklie said. "I just wanted to let you know how much your contributions over the years have meant to the lab."

As if the following admission were painful, his face pinched, when he volunteered, "You will always be accredited as being the source of the strength of the lab." As Greg and Warrick made their way into the parlor, followed by Nick, Wendy, and Brass, Ecklie turned to Sara and added, "You'll be missed in DNA."

Closing her eyes, she tried not to grind her teeth at Ecklie's statement, seeing as she'd not actually _told_ her team she'd be leaving her job. On a calming breath, she opened her eyes and looked around to the faces she'd come to respect, admire, and love over the years.

"You're leaving?" Greg whispered. His face turned thunderous when he more loudly asked, "When were you going to tell us?"

Gil glanced at his wife, then Catherine before holding up his hand.

"Gil," Sara softly interjected. "Please. Let me talk."

"I made the decision today – this morning," she said, standing in front of and addressing her team. "There are so many factors that I considered, but… it's time." Catching her husband's gaze, she murmured, "I want to be able to spend more time with you, and still do work I will love."

Turning back to Greg, she purposely took on a look of superior disinterest, and she asked, "Now, would you like to know what is going to happen or would you prefer to find out with everyone else out there?"

Blowing out a breath, Greg realized he was better off listening. Besides, unlike her taking off to San Francisco, he was being told in advance; and regardless of what happens… she was talking to him. He was ready to listen.

So she explained her future. As she spoke, she saw a cross between sadness at her and Gil resigning from the lab, and envy at their pursuing the chance to really do what they dream. As Ecklie tried to back away from the parlor, Gil stepped over and laid a hand on his arm.

"Conrad, before you go, there's something I need to say to you," Gil stated. Tucking her arm into her husband's Sara quietly said, "Thank you, Conrad. You went above and beyond to help me transition back into the lab. In reality, you could have simply not let me have my job back."

Gil gave a crooked grin, and said, "Thanks for giving me some competition all these years." Holding out his hand, he waited for Ecklie to take it and shake. "It's been a pleasure, Conrad."

Ecklie looked around the room and said, "I know you haven't always agreed with my decisions. Most of the time, I haven't cared, but there have been a few times I wish I'd handled things differently." Grudgingly he continued, "Graveyard shift always was the best shift in the lab." Glancing to each and every CSI in the parlor, Ecklie stated, "Graveyard will _continue_ to be the best." Focusing back in on Gil, he admitted, "Your legacy."

Stepping away, Ecklie placed the look of bored resignation once again on his face and smugly said, "I suggest you all get to your tables. Dinner will soon be served, and then speeches." Looking to Sara and Gil, he added, "The two of you will be rounding out the evening."

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Mandy and April admired the CSI team as they made their way across the room to their table. The men looked suave in their tuxedoes, even Greg with his hair going spiky that evening. The women appeared elegant in their gowns. Catherine wore a classic black, strapless gown, while Wendy dressed in deep green spaghetti strap velvet, and Sara adorned her strapless blue silk. Her arm through his, Gil and Sara followed behind sedately, and April watched as they stole glances all the way across the room.

To anyone else, the team would have looked like everyone else in the room, but to the trained eyes of Mandy and April, there was a level of vibrancy and connection between the members of the group that made others naturally part out of their way.

They arrived just as meals were served, and relaxed, enjoying their food. While they ate, they talked, joked, and teased one another. Tables around them held low murmuring voice of 'polite' conversation, while everyone sitting with the CSIs enjoyed an evening of raucous laughter, bad jokes, and loud banter.

As Gil looked around the table, he realized for a moment just how lucky he'd been to work with _this_ crew. Swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, he hadn't realized his grin had slipped until he felt Sara touch his arm.

When she looked in his blue eyes, saw the hazy overlay of mist, she watched his glance switch momentarily to the people around them and understood. Squeezing his arm, she watched him take a deep breath before she whispered, "We've been lucky," as the sheriff got up to speak.

A hush fell over the room, as the next forty minutes included speeches from several people. Many times, Catherine looked over at one of 'the boys' and Brass to find their eyes glazed over in boredom, and each time she smirked. Catching Gil's eye, she raised a brow, and he chuckled. His co-worker's message was simple: _You'll be happy to get out of __**these**__ in the future._

Sara's attention was turned when she heard her name come from the podium. Like the rest of the team, she'd tuned out the speeches. However, when Ecklie said, "Now, to show off what our lab has been working on in conjunction with private industry, I'd like to introduce Sara Grissom," and began clapping.

Gil grinned as he watched his wife's eyes abruptly sharpen and she let out a sigh.

"Don't be nervous," he suggested, the grin widening on his face. She reached under the table, picked up the case, and made her way to the podium, nodding to April and Greg to follow. While April brought up the software she and other consultants had developed over the past months, Sara handed Greg the V/R device.

For the next ten minutes, she had Greg dimensioning out the room, laying out the primary objects, and explaining the remaining work to be done with both hardware and software. Silence accompanied the display. When the lights turned down, and she showed the infra-red data transmitting, she heard murmurs among the crowd, and held back a grin.

When Sara was finished showing off her 'cool toy' as Greg referred to it, she nervously stepped up to the microphone and said, "It's been an amazing dream to be able to work on this device. My hope and dream is to have it available to every CSI in this country."

"It will never take the place of good old detective work," she said, nodding toward Brass in acknowledgement, "but I have high hopes that a device like this can be used as another tool in evidence collection and analysis. Thank you."

As she stepped away, she was surprised by the applause throughout the room, and smiled over at her table, where Nick and Warrick were letting out loud whistles, hoots, and hollers of support. Laughing, she watched as April and Greg packed up the gear – luckily a momentary process. Stepping back even further, she let Ecklie back to the microphone, his favorite place to be.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN," he loudly called, and then a bit lower, "Ladies and Gentlemen, we have one more speaker. If I could get everyone to settle down…" Ecklie stepped back, caught Gil's eye, and nodded.

Slowly making his way up to the podium, Gil first stopped to smile at his wife, reach out, and slowly stroke his hand down her bare arm. Admiringly, he looked at his wife, her dress flowing about her, and her curls laying across her bare shoulders.

Of the hundreds of guests who knew Gil Grissom, the simple contact stunned them. Known as a man who _always_ focused on the business at hand, the other detectives in the room, and even the other CSI shift supervisors raised their eyebrows over the simple contact that portrayed so much… emotion.

Unlike the humming quiet that usually preceded the speakers of the night, Gil was met with absolute silence. For a moment, he didn't know what to say, because no words seemed right, and something just seemed… off. Then it hit him.

Reaching out, he waited for Sara to take his hand and step forward with him. From this day forward, they would be a team. It wasn't just his place to make the announcements. It was _their_ job.

"When I first came to the lab, it needed a great deal of work," he began. "In the years since, I've been lucky to work with some of the best CSIs and detectives in the country. Jim brass certainly falls into this category. He's fair, and he's kept me honest all these years. Of any detective I've ever met, he's the one who I'd want watching my back – now and always." He caught the detective's eye and gave a nod of acknowledgement, and smirked when Brass raised a glass of Scotch – on the rocks – as a salute.

Then switching his gaze, he looked directly at his co-supervisor when he said, "I've watched Catherine Willows become not only an amazing CSI, but a great supervisor. From her, I expect greatness, because I know she is more than capable." When he glanced over to Ecklie and said, "You'd better watch out, Conrad. She could probably do your job," he was greeted by chuckles from the audience. Little did they know that he was serious, and Gil winked conspiratorially at his former co-worker.

"Warrick Brown understands the streets, the people of Vegas, as well or better than most detectives," Gil said, staring straight into the eyes of the man in question. For a moment, Gil spoke directly to Warrick. "You understand the process, and are the best fighter I've got when it comes to serving justice. Don't ever give up your sense of what the people around here need. You know these streets better than anyone I've met."

Turning his gaze to Nick, Gil stated, "Nick Stokes is probably the most compassionate CSI I've got. Because he feels so much for the victim, he pushes until he gets answers. He may put a case away at the end of the day, but he comes back into work the next day with the goal of providing answers for the victim's family. Even under the worst of circumstances," Gil continued, thinking of the time Nick was buried alive, "he uses his brain to find his way." Softly addressing the Texan, he added, "I've _never_ been disappointed in you, Nick. You have always risen above and moved on. That's a trait to be admired."

In the utter silence of the room, Grissom turned his gaze to Greg, and took a deep breath. "Greg Sanders is young. He's got a lot left to learn; but not from me or Sara. Time and experience are his teachers now, as he's grown beyond us." More reminiscent, he smiled softly when he continued, "When Greg said he wanted to go in the field, I was intrigued. He made some mistakes, and has never repeated them. With his sense of humor and his absolute sense of intrigue, he's moved into his position with a grace _I_ could never manage."

Thinking of the beating his young CSI took, and the subsequent childish fear of Greg telling his parents about _being_ a CSI, Gil grinned at the young man and said, "Greg, you don't need a teacher anymore. Whatever you do, don't lose the sense of wonder you hold in each case, that gives you such a unique perspective. You're perhaps the most open and honest CSI I've ever met." Shifting his glance over to Wendy, then back to Greg, he added, "You, Nick, and Warrick are making good mentors for Wendy. She'll benefit from all of you."

Glancing around the table to 'his guys', Gil soberly and softly stated, "You know everything I could ever teach you. I'm honored to have been your supervisor, your mentor. Now, I'll just be your friend."

Gulping down the emotion welling in him, he abruptly turned his attention back to the crowd, and with a couple of calming breaths, the detached look once again graced his face.

"Effective the end of last shift, I am no longer supervisor for the LVPD graveyard shift. Due to a medical condition, I have effectively retired. Catherine Willows has taken my position."

Linking her arm through her husband's, Sara caught and gazed into his eyes, and received his nod. Leaning over toward the microphone she said, "A few days ago, I was offered a position I couldn't refuse. I was given a chance to expand the project I'm working on – to become the head of a research division. I will be able to look at theoretical and applied technologies to help CSIs all over this country. I simply couldn't turn it down." Looking back at her husband, visualizing their future together in his eyes, she continued to look at him when she said, "Our future is open, and it's bright."

Smiling at her, Gil then addressed the audience once again. "While we will be available for the occasional case consultation, our new positions will require travel on both our parts."

It was to his wife he addressed, "But we've wasted so much time already. I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you. No more going days without seeing one another. No more going to bed alone, or waking up alone. We're in this together, now and in the future."

Later, everyone figured he'd forgotten in that moment that he was still standing in front of the microphone when he ran a finger down her cheek and quietly said, "I know I haven't said it enough. I love you. You're not just my wife or my lover. You're my best friend."

As the couple slowly stepped back and moved away from the podium, the only sound were their footfalls, as everyone sat in shock. They'd taken several steps before the clapping began, and people stood rapidly from their chairs.

The thunderous applause echoed high and throughout the massive silk-draped ballroom. It seemed to get louder and louder, until it was deafening… and humbling. Sara had known her husband was respected. She knew people admired his work and his drive. To Gil, the applause meant little, as he'd never been one to show off his work; but to Sara, it gave her a sense of humility, especially as it became even louder. Looking around, she felt her eyes mist, pool, and tears spilled over. Impatiently, she brushed them away and smiled at Gil.

Sara put her hands over her ears and whistles and hollers joined the applause, making it deafening in a room that echoed, only to see her husband smile and sign, "Can't hear right now. It went out while I spoke. Is that a good thing?" He could see the people clapping, and make out a low-tone vague mush of sound, but not loud.

Grasping his hand, she laughed, and he dragged her onto the dance floor.

Taking this as a signal, the speakers began to play a soft slow melody. Leisurely, several other couples joined them. People watched them closely, and Sara found herself seeking the people at her table – the ones she loved and would miss seeing everyday. _I won't cry again,_ passed through her mind, and she decided she needed to change the topic running through her head.

Looking into his eyes, she spoke clearly so he would understand, "I think it went well. We're all dressed up and no disaster," which earned her that quick boyish grin that always made her heart skip a beat.

"Yes, dear. Your dress is still intact, and I'm looking pretty good in my tux," he said, the grin turning into a full blown smile when he waggled his brows at her. Then pulling her close, he laughed, hugging her tight, as she moved her hands to his chest and tilted her head onto his shoulder.

Later, someone would swear it must have been the waiter bringing out the flambé desert that had done it. But Sara had spoken to soon.

One moment, he held her close, feeling his wife's head on his shoulder in a slow, swaying dance. The next moment, he felt water pouring down over him. The already dim lights went off and emergency lights illuminated half the room, as people ran screaming from the section of the ballroom with the dance floor to the other side, where the sprinklers remained dry.

In the dim light in front of _everyone_, Gil Grissom leaned in, kissed his wife, for once letting himself sink into the warmth he found in her lips and mouth, and took everything she gladly offered. Eventually lifting his head, he looked at his drenched Sara, tilted his head back and laughed, "Please tell me they're playing 'Dancing in the Rain'." Grinning she reached up and ruffled his drenched curls, and could feel the drips from her own hair fall onto her soaked gown.

As she moved her arms around his neck, he felt his own arms wrap tight around her waist. He grinned down and said, "Perfect track record, sweetheart," and went back to kissing his wife.

Sitting at their dry table in the untouched area of the ballroom, every member of the graveyard CSI team, and detective Jim Brass grinned like loons at the lone couple standing in the falling water on the dance floor, continuing to sway to non-existent music.

The laughter didn't start until Greg ruefully asked, "Is that steam I see coming off of them?"

**FIN.**

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A/N – Review and Login have been so happy. He's been beaming to anyone and everyone. Login's font has gotten bigger – a little rounder, and he's been with her for every appointment. It's as if every dream were coming true. He wasn't squeamish going through the birthing classes… not even the video. It wasn't until the doctor looked at them and said, "Twins" that Login did something totally surprising. He fainted.

A/N 2 – Okay… I want to thank everyone once again for their support while I was writing this. I've had so many people PM or Review, I've been truly humbled by the experience. Thank you.


	65. Epilogue

A/N – Thank you everyone for all the wonderful support and kindness you've given me these past months. I hope you enjoy the Epilogue.

A/N 2 – I would like to thank cancsifan for the name of Review and Login's daughter. It's perfect.

Disclaimer – Epilogues don't need disclaimers. They just need a little TLC.

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Nick stared at the darkened office, only a dim light under a shelf illuminating the space. He wasn't the only one found drawn to the doorway of the former CSI supervisor's office. For several minutes, the Texan just stared, taking in the details.

Shelves stood, strewn with books and journals. It was hard to make out the contents of the various cages and jars, but they lay un-obscured on tables here and there. The 'In' box seemed eerily empty, as Nick thought about the fact that Gil Grissom would never again be handing out assignments. A lump formed in his throat when he thought about the fact Grissom wouldn't be there every day, offering assistance or strange references to difficult cases.

However, the Texan had to smile, shifting his thoughts to the Policeman's Ball the month before.

After getting drenched, the couple had proudly walked over to the table, and informed Greg and April they needed to take care of getting the equipment back to the lab. Arm in arm, as if it were the norm, Sara and Gil Grissom had walked out of the ballroom – soaking wet, dripping, and without a care in the world.

Then they'd gone on their honeymoon. No one had seen them since, although Catherine got a post card from Mexico.

The hand on his shoulder made Nick jump, and spin around, nearly knocking _him_ down.

"You don't get my fetal pig," Grissom sardonically stated, a lazy tan grin on his face. Walking past the CSI, he flipped on the lights, bringing the office to life. Gil dropped a stack of papers into his 'In' box, and turned to the windows facing the lab, watching his wife's approach. When Sara appeared only moments later, she sported a matching grin and deep tan.

"Hey," she murmured and signed to her husband, sedately approaching him. Nick's jaw dropped when Grissom reached over, pulled her to him and kissed her deeply. When he finally hoisted his jaw up, Nick started laughing, shaking his head.

"You're not on your honeymoon, darlin'," he addressed to Sara.

Turning her head toward her friend, but still wrapped around her husband, Sara shyly grinned, "We're also not under lab policy anymore." Reaching onto the stack of papers Gil had dropped on his desk, Sara grabbed the new name plate, which read just "Grissom / Consultant" and placed it out for Nick to see.

Gil looked at Nick and smiled, his eyes sparkling, when he added, "Sometimes it's worth it to break the rules. Remember that."

Laughing again, Nick held out his arms to give Sara a quick hug, and then left the couple to their work.

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Greg and April had spent the previous evening with Gil and Sara (who had actually returned the week before and were making room for the newest addition to the family – a golden retriever).

The four (actually six, including Hank and Seven) enjoyed dinner and a movie. No one got particularly upset when Grissom grumbled at the screen, flipped on closed captioning, and started muttering when he couldn't see the actors' lips. Rather, if things were unclear, either April or Sara signed it to him. In the end, it was popcorn and a movie, like any other hang-out time Greg and Sara were used to in the past.

Now Greg had the night off, and had insisted April do the same. He'd already spoken with Dennis, and then Laura. It had humbled him when he and Dennis had spoken. For the longest time, Greg hadn't known what to say about their initial meeting – Greg's anger toward Laura. He hadn't known how to apologize for his behavior and ask for forgiveness from April's parents.

Yet somewhere along the way, Dennis had come to find a strong respect for Greg, and so when they spoke, it was with a blessing from Dennis and a promise from Greg. The only warning the young man had received was, "Don't make my daughter cry."

Everything was ready. The table was reserved. It was perfect. The ring was in his pocket.

Her eyes widened when he showed up in a dark brown suit, a typical Greg hat on his head, and a bouquet of daisies – her favorite. April put on her light jacket, linked her arm through his, and they made their way to the restaurant.

He waited for desert, nervously praying she'd say yes.

"You've gotten quiet," April said, taking a bite of the cheesecake in front of her. "Is everything all right? You've barely spoken the whole night."

"Actually, I have something serious to talk to you about," Greg soberly stated, feeling the hum of nerves run through his veins, like they were a circuitous race course. Standing, he made his way around the small, circular table draped in white cloth, and bent on one knee.

"April, I know it's only been a matter of months, but…" and his cell phone went off.

"Not now," he muttered under his breath.

Distractedly he continued, "You know I love you…" and the phone went off again.

"They _know_ I planned this night off," he muttered again, this time loud enough for April to hear.

Reaching down to the man on bended knee, as his phone blared once more, she felt the tears prick her eyes, and she smiled. Laying a hand on his cheek, she asked, "Greg? Will you marry me?" just as his cell phone went off one more time.

With a rueful grin, he pulled out the ring and said, "Absolutely."

Grinning, she slid the ring on, noticing that unlike a traditional ring, the antique daisy with the small sapphire in the center, fit perfectly.

When his phone blared one more time, she rose, held out her hand at the now frowning CSI, friend, and soon to be lover, and laughed, "You'd better answer that," through the tears of joy steadily streaming down her face.

Gripping the phone in unsteady hands at the surreal proposal in front of him, Greg flipped it open, barked, "Sanders. This better be good." Then reality hit and he yelled, "She said yes!" at Catherine on the other end of the line.

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A/N – The labor was long and arduous, and in the end, they'd been born just a week early. Review had begun experiencing labor pains and occasional contractions weeks before, and the couple had wished and prayed long and hard for their kids to be okay. In the end, the result was worth everything… Ficlet and OneShot were welcomed into the arms of awed parents. Ficlet had Login wrapped around her little finger within seconds; and OneShot was the spitting image of his father. Review figured that if OneShot ever developed that boyish, sly grin Login would give her upon occasion, she was going to have her hands full.


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